


Hallowed Grounds

by damnfancyscotch



Series: Stiles & The Wild Things [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Alternate Universe, BAMF Stiles, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Emissary in Training Stiles Stilinski, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Full Shift Werewolves, Hale Pack, Hunters, Hurt Stiles, Kidnapped Stiles, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Monster of the Week, Pack Marks, Sheriff Stilinski Finds Out About Werewolves, Slow Burn, Stiles and Erica Are Besties, Wolf Derek, Writer Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-03-06 10:53:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 109,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3131873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damnfancyscotch/pseuds/damnfancyscotch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything in Beacon Hills is the same when Stiles comes home from college.</p><p>Well, except for the fact that he's a published author now, Scott is halfway across the world with a travelling circus, Erica's epilepsy has been cured, her boss offers him a job too, and there's this weird black dog that seems to be following him around just to judge him.</p><p>Oh, and the murders, of course.</p><p>But other than that stuff... totally the same old BH.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okie dokie, my sweet babbies!
> 
> So, in honor of the new year and all the love/kind words/encouragement I've received since August, I thought I'd give you a treat and post the New Chapter 1.
> 
> Now, as a forewarning, I am not done revising the later chapters of the story. I currently work two jobs and have a very busy personal life so I am not sure when I will finish, only that I will finish it eventually.
> 
> Thanks again for being so awesome. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_Around eight thirty on Friday night, Derek suddenly feels overwhelmingly itchy. He shifts his shoulders, trying to ignore the weird, crawling-ants feeling and stares at the canvas in front of him._

_Twenty minutes later, he heaves a sigh and throws the brush in his hand onto the table, splattering periwinkle drops all over the cloth under his paint palette. He can’t sit still and it’s making him feel crazy._

_He stares out the open door of the cabin, noting the rising moon – just over half full – and how it smells like it may rain. He attempts to distract himself by counting the windows in the one-room cabin, tapping his fingers against his thigh with the beat of the song softly playing on the radio by the bathroom._

_No matter how much he tries, the itch gets so bad that he finally pulls off his clothes, lets the wolf take over, and runs. Just runs and runs and runs._

_He ends up at the furthest edge of the territory, just after the sign welcoming people to Beacon Hills, when he hears music and an awful singing voice. He freezes, squinting down the road and trying to see something around the blind curve._

_Bright headlights cut across his vision and he blinks, jolts and runs just as a light blue Jeep swerves away from colliding with him, the front fender clipping his back foot so softly it feels like a caress. He turns and glances back, making sure that the driver isn’t dead or in a bad accident._

_The driver side door slams open and curses immediately fill the air. He hunkers in the shadow of a bush and listens as the guy puts a phone to his ear._

_“Dad? Hey. What, no, I didn’t do anything! Why do you assume – you know what, never mind. I’m calling because I just got into town but I almost hit a wolf or something and now I’m off the side of the road and both tires on the driver side are out. I need a tow.”_

_He can’t hear the reply over the phone, just far enough away to hear the rise and fall of the voice, but not the words. The guy sighs, rubbing his hand over his face._

_“Yes, Dad, a wolf. I’m serious.” He pauses, then rolls his eyes. “It didn’t look like a mountain lion, Dad. It looked like a wolf.”_

_Derek tenses, lips pulled back from his teeth. He’s stupid to have come out here. Clearly nothing is wrong – he feels fine now._

_"Well there’s at least_ one _wolf in California and it almost annihilated me and my baby.” He pats the hood of the Jeep. “Yes, Dad, I realize if I had come back with you two days ago, this wouldn’t have happened. I had stuff I had to – just, Dad, please can you call a wrecker for me?”_

_He waits then sighs, slumping against the side of his Jeep in relief. “Great. I’m right next to the welcome sign. Mmhmm. Love you too.”_

_The guy hangs up and slips the phone into his pocket before he steps closer to the woods on the side of the road, peering into the foliage intently._

_Derek scoots further back into the shadows as the guy takes another step closer._

_The guy jumps as his phone starts ringing, the annoying ‘Call Me, Maybe’ song playing. He pulls his phone from his pocket and picks it up with an affectionate, “Scotty, my man.”_

_Derek’s muscles unclench. There’s clearly nothing to worry about here. The driver is fine and no one and nothing is coming to Beacon Hills that would make any difference to him or his, at least not tonight._

_He slips away and heads back toward the cabin, pushing the strange guy and his stupid ringtone out of his mind._

 -----

“Rise and shine, kid.” John calls cheerily, whipping back the curtains blocking out the strong morning sunlight.

Stiles scrabbles to cover his eyes, screeching like a dying bird. “Daaad, nooooo,” he wails. “S’too early…”

“It’s nine fifteen, Stiles. I know you had classes earlier than this,” John mutters and yanks on the bottom of the comforter.

“I almost died last night,” Stiles whines and shoves his head under his pillow.

“Oh, you did not,” John admonishes and walks away, leaving the door open as he heads down the hall to finish getting ready for work.

Stretching like a cat, Stiles groans and sprawls his limbs out, his hands and feet hanging off the bed as he blinks at the ceiling, trying to compel himself to get up.

It finally takes his dad shouting “Ten minutes or you’re walking!” before he pulls himself up, goes through his morning routine, pulls on some clean cargo shorts and a t-shirt, and stumbles down the stairs.

His dad catches him by his shoulder when he stumbles while shoving his feet into his sneakers. “Twenty two, graduated from college, and you still wake up like a sullen teenager.”

Stiles grumbles something even he doesn’t understand completely and follows his dad out to the cruiser parked in the driveway.

Slumping in the front seat, he watches the familiar landscape of Beacon Hills roll by before his dad pulls to a stop in front of the mechanic on the edge of downtown.

“I’ll be at work til later on tonight and Melissa’s working a double today. There’s some food in the house or you can order pizza with the cookie jar money.” John pats his shoulder.

“I’ve got an appointment at noon with the guy about the house at the end of Maple,” Stiles says through a yawn. “So I’ll stop by the store and grab something to make.”

“You know,” John starts, “you don’t have to get a place if you don’t want to. Your room is still open and we’re happy to have you.”

Stiles shakes his head. “Dad, for the last time, you and Melissa are married and I’m an adult. I need my own place.”

“Yeah,” John smirks at him, “sometimes I’m not so sure about the adult part.”

“Oh har har,” Stiles gripes then heaves himself out of the car with another groan.

“Stiles.” He stoops down, blinking at his dad who’s grinning at him now. “It was weird having you in another country. It’s good to have you home, kid.”

Stiles grins back. “Glad to be here, Dad.” He thumps the windowsill and steps back as his dad drives away, taking a left to head towards the station.

It takes five minutes inside the shop to determine that no one’s even gotten a chance to look at his Jeep. It takes fifteen minutes sitting slumped in the waiting room in a hard plastic chair to make him curse himself for not charging his phone.

He could walk back home, get his charger, and return to the shop in plenty of time – it’s going to be at least an hour before they get to him. He sighs and tells the front desk person he’ll be back and decides to take a stroll around Downtown to kill time.

Hands in his pockets, he ambles along Brookshire Street and smiles at the few locals out and about before lunch. Most of the shops and businesses are the same as they’ve always been.

The pizza place is the same with the old red booths, he notes as he peers in the windows. The ice cream parlor has gotten a facelift. He watches two girls and a guy dressed in pastel polo shirts serve ice cream to a group of kids in party hats as he passes. The small town park has a few dogs and their owners and a couple of joggers on the path as he moseys along.

Right before Washington, he looks across the street and notices that the old Java Joint has been changed into a different coffee shop in the two years since he’d been home. He pauses at the intersection, rocking back on his heels as he contemplates before the idea of coffee is too strong and he’s pulled toward the repainted and slightly remodeled building.

Above the door, there’s an old-fashioned swinging sign with a wood carving depicting three wolves howling up at a coffee bean and curling letters that spell out  _Hallowed Grounds_.

The tables in front of the shop are occupied on one side with a mother dressed for running, reading a Kindle, her gurgling baby in a stroller next to her, and a sleepy teenage girl at the next table muddling through what looks like homework –  _on a Saturday, bummer_.

Stiles steps up to one of the windows and peers inside. The entirety of the old, cheap interior has been replaced with gleaming dark wood, mirrored panels, and plush couches set in sections with low tables between. Face close to the glass, he admires the paintings lined along the walls of the shop.

It looks like someone cut windows into the walls, revealing views of the trees and plants from the Preserve just outside of town. The paintings are  _good_. Better than good – they’re phenomenal. He’s pressing a little closer, cupping his hands around his eyes to try and see better, when someone thumps the glass in front of him.

He jumps back, startled, then shifts closer and smiles when he recognizes the face behind the window. “Holy shit!” he shouts with a grin and throws his arms up in excitement.

The girl behind the glass laughs, shaking her head and pointing towards the front door.

The door is heavy and old but it still sweeps perfectly under a tiny bell to ring out a soft chime. Stiles is too excited going in and he almost busts it on an area rug before righting himself, much to the amusement of a pair of customers sitting a few feet away.

“Oh, whoops. Hope I didn’t disturb you. Carry on!” He whips around at the sound of feminine laughter.

“I see years of growing haven’t done much for your balance, Stiles,” Erica purrs and, god, Stiles is gobsmacked.

Her blonde hair is longer and vaguely wild despite being curled and half pinned back in a style that emphasizes her wide eyes that she’s accentuated with dark liner. She’s got her hands braced on her hips in a confident stance that showcases her lean legs in dark gray leggings that show beneath her black tunic shirt. She wiggles her wine red painted toenails in her flip flops when she notices Stiles’ eyes on them.

“Oh my god, Erica!” He shakes his head, unable to stop smiling. “You look – _wow_.”

“Prettier? More attractive?” She wrinkles her nose and purses her  _very_  red lips.

Stiles shakes his head. “Nah, I was gonna say ‘healthy’ or ‘better’ – you look really, really good. Everything going well with –” He waves his hand in a way that he hopes conveys her medical condition without having to actually say it out loud since there are a few customers and it really isn’t his secret to tell after all – though he does wonder if he’s still allowed to ask about it, since he hasn’t spoken to her almost at all in two years.

He hasn’t  _seen_  her since graduation when they’d hugged each other hard enough to squeeze out all the air in their lungs before she pressed a chaste kiss to his lips and left to try a new treatment that could help her with her epilepsy – if it didn’t kill her in the process. They talked via text and email a bit over time but eventually, contact fell off.

She shifts now, posture relaxing the slightest bit and her smile is genuine instead of the one filled with sharp edges. He wonders if hugging this New Erica is acceptable, how much she’s changed.

“Yeah, things are better,” she finally answers. She tips her head to indicate he should follow as she walks over to the front counter and smiles a little bigger as she slides into the tall chair there and leans forward. “I’m  _cured_.”

Stiles’ mouth drops open. “Oh my god! What?! That’s  _awesome_! Dude, that’s so freaking great.” Propping his elbows on the chest-high counter, he gives her the fist bump she holds her hand out for. “What happened? Wait, this is the treatment you were talking about before? Did you decide to go through with it? I am so happy for you.”

She shrugs and gives him a deep look, still smiling. “It was a risky procedure and it had some side effects, but I’m completely cured of the epilepsy. That’s all I wanted.” He knows that, but he’s still glad she’s okay.

Stiles lays his hand palm up on the counter and waits, unsure where the lines are in their friendship now. She stares at it for a moment before slipping her fingers over his and he curls his fingers around hers, a flare of affection bursting in his chest. God! He’d missed her.

She continues lowly, “I… wasn’t really in a good headspace for a bit. Everything was a little hard to deal with and the preparation for it was a little scary but it’s all good now. And it was worth it.” She squeezes his fingers and grins over Stiles’ shoulder, voice dropping into a whisper, “Plus I’ve met some really good people.”

Stiles turns his head and sees a guy sitting next to a bookshelf, organizing the books.  There’s a sign above the shelf that declares it the “House Library” –  _take one, go on an adventure, put it back when you’re done – or else_. The guy’s t-shirt rides up slightly in the back as he bends to reach a book on the bottom shelf and Stiles quirks an eyebrow at Erica who winks back.

“Wow, hottie alert,” he whispers.

“Totally,” she agrees with a smirk as the guy turns his head to look at them curiously.

Stiles whips back around. “Shit, was I loud enough for him to hear me?” he breathes, barely moving his mouth and staring at her with wide eyes. She nods.  _Great_. “He looks familiar. Do I know him?”

“Yeah,” she drawls. He’s used to that tone, especially from her, the _god-Stiles-you-are-so-dumb-sometimes_ tone. “That’s Isaac Lahey.”

“ _What?_ ” Stiles peeks over his shoulder, trying to be somewhat subtler this time. “Damn, he grew up cute.”

She makes an agreeable noise. “He really doesn’t get how cute he is,” she sighs. “Though, to be fair, he was cute in high school too.”

Stiles hums. “Pretty sure Scott noticed when he had a crush on Emily Baker in ninth grade but she only wanted Isaac.”

“God, that was a disaster.” She rolls her eyes and laughs. “Speaking of, I haven’t seen Scott since he ran off to join the circus. How’s he doing?”

“Ugh, I know. Who does that anymore?” he agrees, though he has to admit he's a little jelly that his best friend/stepbrother landed the job of a lifetime with a traveling circus. He’s also ridiculously proud. “But he’s good. He’s got a sweet girlfriend and, like, the _coolest_ job,” Stiles sighs exaggeratedly. “Stamps on his passport and a million amazing stories.”

“Of course.” Erica smiles and slides a couple stacks of paper together and puts them on a clipboard. “So, are you finally done with school?”

He nods, pushing his hand through his hair and slumping against the counter. “Just finished my undergrad a couple of weeks ago, graduated last week. Decided to come home for the summer and things were going well until about ten minutes into town.”

“What happened?” she asks, clicking a pen a couple of times.

“Dude, I almost ran over a wolf that my dad insists must have been a mountain lion, even though it did _not_ look like a mountain lion, but whatever. Not important.” Stiles waves his hand in the air. “When I ran off the road, I busted my tires. So my Jeep’s in the shop and I was bored sitting around there. And now I’m here with you.” He holds out his hands and grins at her.

“A wolf? That’s weird.” A line of tension runs through her shoulders before she rolls them slowly. “Your dad’s probably right about it being a mountain lion. They’ve been pretty bad this year.”

Stiles shrugs. “Eh, it was probably just a big dog. I've convinced myself at this point that I was just tired from the drive.”

Erica nods, eyebrow quirking. “Did you say your  _Jeep_?” She laughs, slightly incredulously. “You  _still_  have that hunk of junk?”

He points firmly at her, frowning. “Don’t you talk about her like that, Missy. She is my one true love. We are  _soul mates_. Also, I didn’t hear you complaining when I was carting your ass all over town in high school.”

“Oh my god. You’re still so ridiculous.” She rolls her eyes again and flicks golden curls over her shoulder. “So was there a reason you were trying to become one with the glass earlier?”

“I was just walking until the tires are done and I saw this coffee shop. Then I noticed you, standing there in all your glorious glory and thought, ‘My god, this girl, this  _vision_ …’” He expects the swipe that she makes at him and ducks out of her reach, grinning. “Really, I saw the art. It’s pretty amazing.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder at the paintings.

“Go take a closer look if you want. I need to work on something real quick anyways. Want anything?” She motions at the menu board behind her and he studies it for a moment before shrugging.

“Sure. Bring me what you would order.”

“Very well. Be gone.” She waves him away with her nose in the air and he smirks at her, catching her hand and pressing a kiss to her fingers. “Dork,” she gripes as she flicks his nose.

He thinks he catches a mumbled “missed you” but he doesn’t acknowledge it as he turns and gets a closer look at the paintings, a huge smile on his face regardless.

He’s leaning close to one of the larger paintings – what looks like a view from high up – and studying the blend of colors in the sky when a brown haired woman pops up at his elbow.

“Lovely, aren’t they?” she asks, looking at the painting, not at him as she clasps her hands in front of herself.

He glances over at her, notices that she’s very pretty, before looking back at the painting. “Yes. They’re all amazing. The different perspectives are really cool.” He gestures at the one in front of them. “The skyline over the trees in this one is probably my favorite.”

She hums and tilts her head. “This is one of my favorites too.” She turns and holds out her hand. “Laura Hale _.”_

Stiles smiles and shakes her hand. “Stiles Stilinski.”

“I own the shop.” She smiles and tips her head at him. “You’re the Sheriff’s son, right?”

 “Yeah.” A surge of familiarity hits him as he takes back his hand.

He remembers his dad talking about the Hales, Talia and David, and their work with the DNR when he was younger. He also remembers the fire that wiped out all but three of the large family.

He clears his throat, hoping his face shows nothing but pleasant blankness. “The coffee shop looks great. I remember it being a lot less nice than this the last time I was home.”

She nods at his praise and looks around with a happy, proprietary air. “It took a lot of work but it’s come along well.” She focuses on him again and her gaze is intense as she gestures for him to sit on a couch across from where she settles on a moss green couch herself. “I saw you talking to Erica. Old friends?”

Stiles laughs a little and takes a seat, shifting comfortably. “High school friends. Sorta fell out of touch, the way people sometimes do, I guess.” He shrugs. “I’ve been finishing my degree, among other things, and she was going through some stuff before that.”

Laura nods with a knowing smile. “Yeah, she’s kept me updated on her progress.”

Stiles blinks at her, wondering how close she and Erica are, when Erica herself comes over with a large dark green mug and saucer and sets it down on the table in front of him.

His attention immediately shifts to the pile of whipped cream on top. “Oh god, this looks so good. What is it?”

She shakes her head, perching on the armrest. “You know how to play this game. Drink it first, then I’ll tell you.”

He chuckles, gingerly picking up the mug. “As long as it doesn’t end up like the pickle juice and sardines smoothie.”

Erica just snickers as he takes a small sip then a bigger one as the flavors hit his tongue. He closes his eyes in bliss, a low moan slipping out.

“For the love of all that is holy, Erica, what is in this cup? It’s  _amazing_.”

She glances at Laura with a smug ass look on her face. “I told you the Triple would work for people.”

“People who want to have a coronary,” she mumbles as she takes a mug that Isaac hands her and sips it delicately.

Erica snorts and tells Stiles, “I’ve been pitching this drink for a month and a half now.”

“Well, you know me. Make it sweet enough to hurt.” He glances over her shoulder and sees the clock on the wall. “Ah shit.”

“What?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder too.

He drains the rest of his drink, gasping a little at the temperature before putting the mug back on the saucer. “I have to go. I have a meeting at noon and it takes like twenty minutes to get there.” He digs his wallet out and hands Erica a ten then folds her fingers over it and gives her a stern look when she tries to give it back. He turns to Laura. “It was great to meet you.”

“Wait.” She holds up her hand as he goes to trot past her. “I know you just graduated and you’d probably like some rest, but if you want a job, just something to pass the time, let me know.”

He’s a little taken aback but nods. “Thanks, that’s very nice of you.” He adds as he walks out, “You’re probably going to regret that offer.”

“We’ll see,” Laura calls back without turning around, waving her hand over her head.

“Hey, you,” Stiles says to Erica, “my number hasn’t changed. Text me.” He returns the kissy face she makes at him and trots back toward the mechanic.

When Stiles finally pulls up to the house at the end of Maple, he's almost twenty minutes late. He stumbles out of the car and waves to the man standing on the porch.

“Hey, I'm Stiles. Sorry about the wait, dude.”

“Dave,” the guy replies then shrugs. “It's all good man. I don’t have any plans today. Wanna take a look around the house?”

“Yeah sure.” He pops up the porch steps and into the little two bedroom one bath house. He takes it in – nothing over the top but it’s nice, cozy in its own way. 

“All the knick-knacks and stuff have been packed up and put in Grandma’s room,” Dave tells Stiles as they go up the stairs. He nods at the door near the top and Stiles assumes that’s the Master bedroom.

Dave points to the bathroom in the middle of the hall then opens the door at the end, confirming Stiles suspicions when he sees a neat little room that faces the back of the house.

“Pretty much just the big furniture is still out. Grandma doesn't have cable but she's got Wi-Fi, which, frankly I didn’t know she could use, but there you have it.” Dave shrugs and they head back down stairs after closing the guest bedroom door.

“Here's the wi-fi password.” Dave taps a piece of paper stuck to the fridge with  _FancyPantsy27!_  written on it. The kitchen is decent with okay appliances and a little window that looks out into the huge back yard. Which,  _whoa._

“Uh, I don’t know if I can afford this if the back yard has anything to do with the price.”

Dave shakes his head a little. “It backs up to the Preserve. The yard isn’t really developed or anything, just big enough to need mowing, which I’ll do, so don’t worry about it.” He waves Stiles over to the back door that leads out to a small covered porch that looks out onto the yard. He points to a break in the trees. “There’s also a nature trail there if you want to use it.”

Stiles bites his lip, thinking about his bank account. It’s not close to empty, really, but he needs to _try_ and save money if he can. “Still, dude, I can't be doing anything crazy with prices.”

Dave waves his objections away. “Look, I told Grandma that you were the one asking about the house and she told me that I should offer it to you at this price. She likes your dad and she thinks you’re adorable, if a bit strange – her words.” He and Stiles share a laugh at that. “Besides, she’s still got another few months on her ‘European tour’ so the house will just be sitting empty unless someone rents it.”

Stiles nods, looking at the back yard again. There’s slight movement among the trees on the left side, a form that could be anything – a cat, a bear, a mountain lion, even.

Or maybe, it’s just a big black dog.

Stiles rocks back on his heels and puts his suddenly itchy hands in his pockets. “Alright, I’ll take it,” he tells Dave.

Dave grins. “Alright. Let’s get everything set up.” He heads back inside.

Stiles moves to follow, throwing one last look over his shoulder before shutting the back door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, my loves. :)
> 
> kisskiss  
> ♡ Scotch


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello darlings. 
> 
> So, I'm making some really decent headway in editing/revisions so I thought I'd go ahead and post the next chapter for you.
> 
> Hope you like it. :)

The Thursday after he arrives back in Beacon Hills, Stiles lounges on the small back porch and takes a break from moving boxes.

He contemplates putting up a porch swing, eyeing the beams on the back porch, and wonders if Mrs. Stein –  _Sarah, darling, call me Sarah_  – would have a problem with him adding to the house. He ponders it for a few more minutes before he puts it on the back burner and stands, stretching with a groan.

He slept like shit the night before and he hopes it’s not a trend since he can’t afford to be a _total_ sleep deprived zombie while he’s working on his book. Eventually, he goes back inside. There isn’t that much stuff but he has one of those moments where he looks around at the boxes and wonders where the hell he accumulated so much junk.

He organizes for about ten more minutes before he gives up and digs out some running shoes and gym shorts. He plucks absently at his t-shirt but figures he’s already sweaty so there’s no point in changing clothes. He locks his Jeep, the front door, and the back door, placing the key under the heavy stone next to the bottom stair on the back porch.

He strolls through the back yard and walks onto the small path, enjoying the way the sunlight dapples along the ground and throws the shadows of the leaves into strange shapes. The trail stays pretty flat and doesn’t have any roots or loose rocks that he can see. It’s slightly cooler under the trees and he takes a deep breath before he starts into a light jog.

He keeps up his easy pace as he takes note of different tracks that break off from the main trail and keeps an eye out for distinguishable path markers that stick out to him: a large rock filled with pyrite on his left along the straight away about fifteen minutes in, a knobby tree with peeling bark that’s vaguely human shaped and, for some reason, reminds him of Grandmother Willow from Pocahontas at around the twenty-five minute mark.

He decides to turn around and head back when he comes to the end of another straight away and sees a large cluster of mushrooms and moss, deciding that’ll be his half-way point.

As he’s jogging back, he notices a dark shape pacing him in the trees. He stumbles then keeps going when he gets the vague impression of a big black dog.

 _Well, damn_ , he thinks.

He watches out of the corner of his eye as the dog runs along with him, a smile pulling at his mouth. As soon as he reaches the end of the trail and the edge of the yard, the dog disappears once more. He watches for a moment, kind of disappointed that the dog didn’t stick around.

He heads inside and digs through his stuff to find things for a shower, gets water all over the floor in the bathroom since he forgot to get a shower curtain, makes a note to get a shower curtain, puts on clean clothes, and heads into town. The sun is still hot so he wrenches his windows down and lets the wind dry his hair.

Turning into the driveway at his dad’s house – it’s still home, but now it’s also kind of _not_ home which is still messing with him – he almost hits a cat that bolts in front of the Jeep. He slams on the breaks and leans forward, trying to catch sight of the animal. It skitters away and under the front porch.

He parks and gets out, peering between the slats of the stairs to see the faint form of the cat and the flare of its eyes.

“Hey little kitty,” he whispers, trying to soothe the clearly terrified animal. The cat growls at him and he holds up his hands. “I’m not gonna get you or make you move. Just checking that I didn’t squash you.” He eyes its sickly form for a moment longer before getting up and going inside.

“Yo, Dad!” he calls. “You’ve got a stray cat under the porch.” He rounds the corner into the kitchen and sees his dad pretending to read a newspaper and Melissa fussing with a casserole dish. He stands there for a moment before he smirks and states,  _“This_  is why I got my own place.”

His dad huffs and puts the paper down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Stiles laughs and claps his dad on the shoulder. “Sure you don’t Dad.” He enjoys the red flush crawling up the back of his dad’s neck and moves to kiss Melissa lightly on the cheek. “Hey there, pretty lady.”

Her smile is bright. “Hey, Stiles. Glad you could join us.”

“Definitely. I’m always up for your cooking. You need any help?”

She waves him towards the table. “Nope. It’s already done.”

They all sit and dig into the meal, the Stilinski men praising Melissa’s culinary skill in between bites.

Stiles sits back in his chair and eyes his clean plate, wondering if he should get seconds. He decides against it as Melissa rises and returns with a box of cookies.

“So,” Melissa grabs a cookie and dunks it in her milk, “I heard Laura Hale offered you a job.”

Stiles nods, shoving a cookie in his mouth before replying. “Mm, yeah. I told her she’d probably regret it,” he laughs. “She seems like a fucking trip.”

“Language,” his dad grumbles, frowning when Stiles snatches the box of cookies from his grasp.

“ _Heart health_ ,” Stiles mocks, eating another cookie and grinning at Melissa who rolls her eyes, steals a cookie, and hands half of it to John.

“I thought you were working on your next book.” John points proudly at the book displayed prominently on the table by the telephone.

Stiles rolls his eyes, insisting, “I _am_.”

“I’m still waiting to see what happens to Parker. You left him held at gunpoint by the High Priestess and, for some reason,  _refuse to tell me anything_  despite the fact that I’m your  _father_  and I  _raised_  you.”

“Dad, you know I’m not allowed to tell you what happens," Stiles tells him for the thousandth time. "My publisher would kill me.”

John grumbles, “I could kill you just as easily as she could.”

“I’m pretending I didn’t hear that,” Melissa scolds, pointing firmly at her husband.

Stiles sighs, grabbing another cookie and waving it around. “I’m working on the sequel right now and the best part is I can work on the book and work at Laura’s shop at the same time.” Stiles shrugs. “Plus you can’t deny that extra money is always good. Maybe I’ll buy something extravagant and crazy like a yacht.” He taps his chin like he's actually thinking about it.

Melissa smiles and pulls him close, kissing his temple. “Our boys,” she says to John who rolls his eyes and nods. “One playing with tigers and monkeys and the other one writing about them, if they were trying to run an international drug cartel.”

Stiles grins. “I’m gonna use that and give you absolutely no credit.” He stands and gestures at the table. “Do you need help cleaning up?”

Melissa waves him away. “I got it. Go, be young, live your life.”

Stiles hugs her. “You, my dear woman, are a goddess. You,” he points at his dad, “are a monster who has zero understanding for my creative process and will not be getting the sneak peek when I release it.”

John cries, “Hey!” as Stiles claps him on the shoulder and heads towards the door.

“Don’t forget about the stray cat!” he calls and hears his dad shout an affirmative.

He peeks under the stairs but doesn’t see the feline so he heads to his car and drives to Hallowed Grounds.

He peeks in and sees a short, brown haired woman and a tall, dark skinned man working behind the counter, but no Laura. He heads inside and stops at the register.

The woman frowns at him, nose wrinkling. “What do you want?” she barks, tone harsh.

The man nudges her with his elbow and Stiles is surprised he doesn’t knock her over. “What can we help you with?” he asks pleasantly.

“Uh… I was wondering if Laura was available?” Stiles fiddles with his shirt hem and tries not to feel intimidated by the woman even though he totally does.

“She’s in the back. Can I tell her who’s asking?” The man’s tone is smooth and soothing, a nice counterpoint to the woman’s scowl and wrinkled nose.

“Yeah. I’m Stiles. We spoke a couple days ago.”

The man nods and heads for the door to the back, disappearing then reappearing with Laura in tow, a smile bright on her face.

“Stiles.” She reaches out and tweaks his shirt collar. “I hope you’re here to take me up on my offer.”

He smiles. “I was thinking about it.”

The woman behind the counter clears her throat and leans forward. “What offer would that be?”

Laura rolls her eyes and puts two fingers to the woman’s forehead, pushing her out of the conversation. “Not that it’s any of your business, Cora, but I’m offering Stiles a job.”

Cora looks at Stiles and wrinkles her nose again. “Why?”

Stiles looks between them, trying to figure out if he should feel personally offended or if Cora’s just naturally abrasive. Judging by Laura rolling her eyes and the man squeezing Cora’s shoulder, Stiles guesses that it’s her normal behavior.

“Because,” Laura says, “Stiles is nice and I like him.” She smiles at Stiles who smiles back. “Besides, we need to split up the couples on shift.”

Cora rolls her eyes. “Blaming Boyd and I for Erica and Isaac’s flagrant need to fuck everywhere they go is so unfair. We work together just fine.” She high-fives Boyd, who grins.

“I forgot the part where I was supposed to run everything by you, Cora,” Laura says. She turns to Stiles with a bright, false smile. “My little sister makes all my hiring decisions, did you know that, Stiles?”

Stiles is saved from answering when Boyd caps his hand over Cora’s mouth and smiles at Laura. “I’m sure Stiles is going to be a great member of the team.”

Laura grins at Boyd while Cora rolls her eyes again and turns to walk away. “Thank you, Boyd, I agree. When would you like to start, Stiles?”

“I don’t really have anything going on right now.” Stiles shrugs and scratches the back of his head. “So, uh, I guess I can work whenever.”

“That’s great to hear.” Laura pulls out her phone and scrolls through a calendar app. “Well how does tomorrow sound?”

Stiles is once again surprised by Laura’s eagerness to have him around. “Tomorrow?”

Laura nods. “Sure. I don’t see any point in playing hardball with you. I’d like for you to work here. You’re at least semi-interested in the job.” She shrugs. “Seems like it’ll work out.”

“Like fifty-three percent interested,” Stiles informs her. He taps his foot, thinking it over for a second before deciding. “What time should I come in?”

“Mm, hold on.” She swipes her finger over the screen a couple times then looks back at him. “Ten work for you?” Her smile turns slightly sinister. “I know you writer types keep strange hours.”

 _Ah, of course_.

Stiles sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, but ten is fine. I’ve got a little writer’s block right now so some distraction would be good.”

“Damn, I’m sorry to hear that. I’m on the edge of my seat, wondering how Parker is gonna get out of that mess he’s in.” She grins at Stiles’ sheepish look.

“When did you read it?”

“Oh, I read when it first came out but I reread it last week after I met you in person. I’m actually a huge fan. Most of us are.” She looks over her shoulder at her sister who’s glaring a warning at her. “Cora would never tell you, but she cried for days when Rand died.”

“Oh my god, Laura!” Cora throws down the cloth in her hand and storms off.

Laura cackles and watches Cora disappear through the door. “She’s also rooting for Parker to get with Rhea, but I know they’re just friends. I mean, best friends, but just friends.” She waves her hand in the air. “Anyways, ten is good for you?”

Stiles stares at her for a moment and wonders if this is a good idea before he nods. “Uh, suuure. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow at ten.”

“See you then.” She twiddles her fingers at him and Boyd nods at him before going back to filling an order.

He walks out and wonders just what he’s actually gotten himself into.

\-----

When he gets back to the house, Stiles unpacks another box and decides that he probably should write at least a little bit. He puts his laptop on the counter and stares at the blinking cursor on his word document for ten minutes before groaning and closing the lid.

He dips into the fridge and grabs a beer. Popping the top, he tosses it into the trash and strolls out onto the back porch.

He catches sight of the big black dog again, lurking a bit further out of the trees this time, clearly looking at him. He sits down on the top step, hoping if he just chills and waits, the dog will come to him.

It doesn’t. It just sits on the edge of the tree line and watches him watch it.

Stiles moves down a step then leans back on his elbows, trying to appear nonchalant.

The dog snorts at him and flicks its ears. The expression on its face could almost resemble scorn.

“That’s alright, buddy. I got nothing but time.” Stiles tips his beer up and salutes the dog with the empty bottle. “I’m gonna be your best friend.” He’s a little enthusiastic with the end of the salute and the bottle goes flying from his hand to thump in the grass.

The dog snorts again, its tail flicking as it fades back and disappears into the growing shadows in the trees

Feeling silly for being embarrassed by a dog, Stiles grabs the bottle and retreats into the house. He watches a few episodes of Friends before falling asleep on the floor in his new bedroom.

\-----

Stiles’ first day at Hallowed Grounds is relatively uneventful.

His stiff back eventually relaxes and he manages to follow all the lessons Erica gives him, though he mostly takes orders and handles the money since he hasn’t quite got the coffee part down yet.

Working with Erica is like a blast from the past in the best way.

They laugh and joke and make fun of each other, drawing the customers in on the playing. Most of the customers recognize him and ask him how his dad is, what’s new in his life, what he was studying in college, and a few ask when his next book will be out.

Erica takes particular delight in teasing him about the book fans. At one point, she fans herself and exclaims in a breathy voice ala Ms. Monroe, “Oh Stiles, you simply  _must_  give me your autograph.”

He rewards her with a soggy slap on her bared midriff with a cloth that he then uses to innocently wipe the counter with as Laura strolls by, shaking her head as if she knows exactly what they’re getting up to.

His first shift ends with Erica pulling him close for a selfie that she posts to Instagram, a demand that he make an account then follow her ( _you’re a famous writer, Stiles, it’ll do wonders for my follower count_ ), and her printing out the picture and sticking it to the wall behind the counter covered in similar photos.

Stiles looks at the photos that are already on the wall while Erica divides up the tips.

A photo of Cora giving Boyd a piggy back ride with Erica pointing and laughing; Isaac holding a cake with  _Happy Birthday, Asshole_ piped onto it and grinning like a mad man; Erica and Laura shooting peace signs and holding beers in front of a lake; the five of them wearing fake mustaches and posing in front of a giant cow with a sign claiming to have  _The Best Ice Cream for 1,000 Miles_ ; Erica, Boyd, and Laura wearing lime green face masks and making absolutely hideous faces while Cora and Isaac look almost close to tears in the background.

“Aren’t we adorable?” Erica drawls, leaning next to him. She points to the one with Isaac and the birthday cake. “This night is when I knew I loved him.”

Stiles smiles and bumps his shoulder against hers. “That’s so fucking cute, Erica.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah. You know me. Cuter than a kitten in a knitting basket.”

He laughs and takes the money she holds out to him. “Dude, eleven dollars. Sweet.”

Erica nods. “You’re pretty good for tips. Must be that you finally let your hair grow out.”

He shoots finger guns at her. “You know it. No one can resist the swell ‘do.”

She groans. “‘Swell?’ How do you expect to find someone to  _do_  you if you use words like that?”

Laura pipes up as she walks by with a box of new mugs, “He just needs someone who likes words like that.” She places the box down and starts placing the mugs in the sink of hot water. “Like Isaac thinks you using the word ‘whatsoever’  _all the time_  is endearing and not totally annoying.”

Erica snorts. “Don’t listen to her. I’ve been your friend longer. I’m right.”

“I know, dear, I know.” Stiles pats her on the head and snatches his hand back when she snaps her teeth at him. He bops her 0n the nose. “No.”

She rolls her eyes. “Not a dog, Stiles.”

Laura snorts as Isaac and Boyd stroll in from the back, laughing together and whispering something that Laura must catch because she snickers and shakes her head.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” Stiles waves and heads to the door.

\-----

The next few days develop into a routine.

Stiles works at the shop, then goes home and does a little writing. Afterwards, he goes for a run, chills on the back porch for a beer or two, and has a staring contest with the black dog - which he’s decided he’s going to call Shadow because he's clever and original.

He even manages to snap a picture of Shadow one night.

It’s a decent shot where the dog is standing against the tree line, looking over at him.

When Stiles looks up from studying the picture, Shadow has stopped moving and is staring at him. He stares back and Shadow flicks his tail before disappearing into the trees.

He finishes his night like he usually does: by watching a few episodes of random shows he finds on Netflix, only able to fall asleep in the empty little house if there’s some sort of background noise.

\-----

_Derek heads back to his cabin._

_He knows he’s been weird lately, not spending a lot of time at the main house with Laura and the others, but there’s something about Stiles that just… bugs him._

_Or, maybe not_ bugs _, persay, but…_

_He bares his teeth in frustration and tries to ignore the niggling sensation that’s been pulling at him since Stiles got into town._

_Like, ‘Stiles’, really? What kind of name is that?_

_When he gets back to the cabin, he shifts back, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and settling into the hammock on the porch, staring at the trees and listening to the sounds of the woods at night._

_After the full moon, the forest seems to wane too, making Derek more tired than usual. He’s drowsy, mulling over the matter of the weird human._

_He still can’t believe that he let the scrawny idiot take his picture._

_“Stupid,” he mutters to himself._

_But, if he’s honest with himself, he knows that tomorrow, he’ll get itchy enough to go peek at Stiles again. Like some kind of creeper._

_He frowns at himself, briefly entertaining the thought that perhaps he could go into the shop tomorrow, just drop in or…_

_No. That would make it obvious that he was interested. Then he would get even more flak from his sisters, this time about Stiles._

_Wait… interested._

_He’s_ not _interested in Stiles._

_Just, well, kind of curious._

_He growls softly, rubbing his face, knowing this whole thing will likely not end well._

\-----

On Friday, it starts raining while Stiles is restocking the back counter. He glances out the windows periodically, hoping that the steady downpour will lighten but it doesn't, only steadily grows worse and by four o'clock, the sky is almost black.

“You alright?” Laura asks, pausing with the mop on the way to the front entry way.

He only jumps a little bit at the sound of her voice, really, before he answers, “Yeah, yeah. I just, uh, I don’t really like storms?”

“Bad experience?” she asks, leaning on the mop.

He clears his throat and shrugs, slightly embarrassed. “We were out on a fishing boat last year, not that far off from shore initially but we went out pretty far and a storm came up pretty fast. We got stuck out in it for a few hours. Nothing bad really happened, like, no one died, but it, ah, it wasn't a very good time.”

Laura pats his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. We’re all afraid or unnerved by something.” Her voice is soft.

Stiles nods and, having nothing to say to make it better, clasps his hand over hers on his shoulder.

“Well!” Erica chimes in, leaning on the counter, “This is depressing.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Compassionate as always, Erica.”

She grins and plants a wine-red kiss on his right cheekbone. “Of course, honey bunches. You know me so well!”

Laura snorts and shakes her head. “You are truly a paragon of sympathetic grace, Erica.” She continues to the entry way and gets the water up so no one slips.

Erica scoots herself up onto the counter by the espresso grinder. “So, Stiles, when are you gonna invite me over to your new place?”

Stiles furrows his brow, feigning thinking about his availability as he wipes down the steam wands before turning to her and smiling. “Never.”

She gasps and puts the back of her wrist to her forehead. “I am so wounded! You don’t want me to come to your house?!”

Stiles raises three fingers. “I call to your attention: the staircase, the desk, and the window.” At her rolled eyes, he points at her sternly. “And those are only the big things!”

“Oh my god,” she groans. “No.” She puts up three fingers as well. “The banister was already loose from you and Scott sliding down it every time you went downstairs, your desk was a piece of crap, and the window was only half my fault.”

Stiles throws his hands in the air, exclaiming, “You almost pushed Scott off the roof!”

“And he didn’t fall because he grabbed onto the windowsill.” She digs into a small container by her hip and pops a chocolate covered coffee bean into her mouth, crunching it loudly.

“If you two hadn’t been racing to get inside - no, never mind. This is pointless.” He shakes his head and starts dividing up the tips. “The point is, Miss Reyes, you break things. It’s not malicious but you just do. I am renting this house from a very nice lady and I don’t want any of her stuff to get messed up.” He holds out her tips.

Erica rolls her eyes and takes the money. “Psh. Whatever.” She drops to the floor and saunters away, calling, “If you don’t want me over, you can just say so.”

“Who doesn’t want you over?” Isaac asks, rounding the corner.

“Stiles.” She steps into him and tucks her face into his neck, whining, “Babe, he says that I’m gonna break his land lady’s crap if I go over there.”

Isaac rubs her hair and smiles at Stiles over her head, winking as he says, “You wouldn’t break any of her stuff.”

Stiles hides his smile as Erica hugs Isaac tight and exclaims, “I know! Thank you for recognizing that!”

“That’s my job, babe.” He rubs his cheek on the top of her head then untangles himself long enough to walk behind the bar, telling Stiles, “I’m here to replace you. Get out.”

Stiles salutes him and boosts himself over the bar instead of walking around.

Laura shakes her head and mutters something about children then rubs her hand over his hair and down the back of his neck in an oddly comforting gesture.

“Be careful on the road. Text me when you get home.” Her tone brooks no argument.

“Yes ma’am.” He grins at her grimace and, totally impulsively, kisses her cheek. “Thanks, Laura.” She looks stunned but pleased, a crooked smile on her face as she waves him out.

He braces himself then just makes a break for it, cursing as he tries to unlock the door. When he finally gets in, he slams the door and sits shuddering for a few moments before starting the car and turning on his wiper blades as high as they’ll go.

He pulls into the driveway and texts Laura that he arrived home safe and sound. All she sends back is a smiley face. His sprint to his front door leads to him almost face-planting into it when his Chucks hit a tiny puddle on the top step.

Once inside, he toes off his sopping wet shoes, peels his socks off and pads into the laundry room. He pulls his over shirt off and pops that in too and decides the white t-shirt is a lost cause too since the shoulders are almost see through.

Grabbing a beer from the fridge, he decides sitting on the back porch steps like usual is a no-go. But…

He looks out the window and sees Shadow lurking in the yard, further out of the edge of the trees or he wouldn’t even be able to see the dog. Thinking quick, he grabs a couple of towels from on top of the dryer.

Stiles slips outside and sits in the doorway, calling, “You can come on up to the porch if you want, pup. There’s no point in sitting in the rain.”

Shadow just stares at him, somehow managing to look regal and slightly menacing despite being soaking wet. There is the slightest shift in his body language, though, so Stiles is hopeful that maybe if he keeps talking, the dog will come to him.

Stiles settles more comfortably into his spot and takes a sip of his beer. “Come on, man, you’re a badass, we all know it. You won’t lose any street cred by coming out of the rain. You might catch a cold.”

Shadow stares at him for a few more minutes before shifting forward and Stiles holds his breath. After a few moments, Shadow moves again. It takes a couple of minutes and more cajoling comments, but finally, the dog is moving up the steps and stopping at the very edge of the dry portion of the porch.

Stiles takes it for the victory that it is and takes a sip from his beer. “That’s gotta be better, dude. You can stay up here whenever you want.”

The dog looks at him and flicks his wet tail, tilting his head just a bit in clear curiosity.

“I know you can’t understand me but I’m hoping I’m putting out soothing vibes. Feel free to sleep on the porch any time the weather isn’t good.” He shrugs. “I mean, it’s not really my house, but it is for now so yeah.” He takes another sip of beer and tilts his head.

Shadow mirrors his movement and Stiles laughs delightedly. Shadow rights his head and it looks like he frowns. He hunkers down and shakes minutely, not dislodging any of the water.

“Oh, shit, yeah, the towel.” Stiles puts down his beer then grabs the towel sitting behind him, holding it in both hands towards Shadow. “I’ll dry you a bit if you’d like. Or I can just hold this up while you – ah!”

Shadow shakes off and Stiles just barely gets the towel high enough to cover himself as dirty water goes flying everywhere. He lowers the towel and if anything, Shadow’s gotten even more adorable, sitting there all spiky and disgruntled looking.

He holds the towel out and waits. After a few moments, Shadow edges slightly closer and pulls the towel from his grip.

Stiles lets it go and watches as the dog wriggles around on the towel, snorting and shaking. Stiles has to cover his mouth to keep in the ungodly sound he would no doubt make at such a sight.

When Shadow stops moving and looks at him expectantly, Stiles takes the towel and tosses it on the floor in the laundry room, grabbing another towel from the dryer. This one he lays on the porch by the back door.

“I know it’s nothing fancy, but if you’d like somewhere to sleep that’s dry, here ya go.” He steps back into the doorway. “I mean, you’d be even more comfy inside, but I understand we should probably get to know each other better. We don’t want our relationship to move too fast.”

The look that Shadow levels him with is so oddly judgmental that he has to laugh. “I’m gonna shower then turn in.” He glances up at the sky and shudders. “G’night, bud.”

After his shower, he settles into bed with his laptop. He writes for a bit in a new window, something tickling his brain. He gets in a good thirty pages, mostly ideas or stray plot points, but a good portion of actual text while taking short breaks to play online before blinking seems to take longer than normal.

He shoves his laptop to the empty side of the bed and turns over, asleep in seconds.

\-----

The next day dawns just as rainy and miserable.

Stiles is weary, having slept poorly once again, woken every few hours by the storm and unable to get back to sleep for very long. He peers out onto the back porch and sees the towel he’d left for Shadow, but the dog is nowhere to be seen. He sighs and grabs his keys, heading out.

When he gets to work, Erica takes one look at him, makes him a Triple, and tells him to go upstairs and organize the stock room so they know what to order.

He knows she’s just getting him out of the way since he’s practically dead on his feet, but he appreciates it anyway. He does get some of the room organized but he’s passed out on a random chaise before long.

Erica wakes him up later with a gentle nudge to his knee before she curls up next to him, dropping her arm over his waist.

“Hey,” he croaks, automatically putting his arm around her shoulders and rubbing his eyes with his free hand.

“Hey,” she echoes, eyelashes tickling his collarbone where his shirt’s been pulled aside in sleep.

He can hear the rain still pounding against the roof and the sky is dark outside the two windows he can see. “What time is it?”

“Mm, about three?” she mumbles, tapping her fingers on his side.

He doesn’t ask her why she didn’t wake him before that, just hums and fiddles with one of her curls.

“This reminds me of hanging out in the attic in Scott’s house,” Erica says a short while later.

Stiles chuckles lowly, remembering hiding up in the weird crawl space of the McCall’s attic as kids exploring, then as teenagers being stoned, staring at the exposed beams and talking about life and death and everything in between.

“Are you allowed to smoke weed now?” he asks.

Erica had refrained, unsure what the drug would do to her with her epilepsy and had watched him and Scott giggle and lay on the floor with them when they begged her to, despite the dust.

“Meh, if I want to.” She shrugs. “But all it does is make me really hungry and then I get a stomach ache.”

He’s vaguely bummed that he missed her first time smoking. They always told each other they would do it together, but he’s happy for her, regardless. “It’s so crazy that you’re cured.”

“Yeah,” she agrees.

He sort of wants to ask more but it’s so peaceful, feeling her heartbeat against his ribs and listening to the rain pelt the roof of the old building, that he just lets it go. She’ll tell him the story when she’s ready.

Eventually, Erica pushes herself up onto her elbow and looks down at him intently. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“Hah,” Stiles huffs, shaking his head. “This isn’t even that bad. Just wait til I’m further into my book. I’ll practically be a zombie. Probably won’t be able to work here as much either.” He scrubs his hand over his face. “I’m just adjusting to being back here. It’s weird, I guess.”

Erica studies him for a moment longer then sighs, her mouth twisting on one side. “Well, I’m glad you’re back. Even if you’re feeling weird right now.” She lifts one shoulder. “It hasn’t been the same without you.”

He smiles, tugging at one of her curls. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too, doofus,” she says, rolling her eyes and finally climbing to her feet. She pulls him up and kisses his cheek. “Now go home. Isaac’s here now.”

Stiles nods and starts towards the stairs. “How do you know he’s here?”

She shrugs. “It’s almost four now. He’s always here around this time, unless he’s off.”

“Hmm.” He drops it, even though he’s oddly convinced that there’s something going on. He’s just too tired to figure it out right now.

He waves to everyone as he passes and heads out, focusing on driving home. When he gets there, he doesn’t even bother to check if Shadow is outside. He just peels off his wet clothes and falls into bed.

He wakes up a few hours later to stale air in the bedroom, even though he knows the overhead fan was on when he passed out. He pats the bedside table for his phone and notices that the old school alarm clock by the bed is dark.

He sits up, nerves on edge, and realizes that the power must be out.

“You’re fine, Stiles,” he reasons to himself. “You’re a grown man. The dark should not scare you.” He unlocks his phone and waffles back and forth before deciding to just press the green phone button.

It rings for a few moments and, when his father picks up, Stiles can hear people talking in the background. “Hey, kiddo. What’s up?”

Stiles clears his throat, suddenly feeling foolish. “Uh, nothing. Just, uh, just wanted to call you. See how you were.” He slaps his forehead and listens to his dad chuckle softly.

“I’m alright. You okay? The storm knocked a bunch of people’s power out. You one of them?” His dad’s voice is kind and soothing and, for a second, Stiles feels like a kid again.

“Yeah. I’m fine. I just…” He picks at a loose thread on the cuff of his pajama bottoms.

“I know. The power company is working on getting the power back on soon.”

“Cool. I’m gonna… go. I know you’re busy. Thanks, Dad.”

Stiles can hear the smile in his dad’s voice. “Anytime, kid. Love you.”

“Love you too, Dad.” He disconnects and sits there for a moment before deciding to go downstairs. Midnight snacks by phone flashlight sound just right.

When he reaches the kitchen, he decides to check to see if Shadow showed up again. He cracks the back door and sees that the dog is there. Stiles’ glee is tempered by the fact that the dog is turned toward the dark yard and softly growling.

“Hey, bud, what’s going on out there?” He reaches out without thinking and runs his fingers down Shadow’s back.

The dog shudders and looks over its shoulder at him, growl fading as the dog stares at him.

Stiles holds his hand up. “Sorry, man. I’m tired and a little freaked out. You wanna come in for a midnight snack? I’ve got a pretty good selection. Do you like chicken?”

Unsure if it’s the offer of food or if Shadow’s decided that dry and inside the dark house is better than outside and wet, Stiles watches as Shadow casts one last growl over his shoulder then trots inside, shuddering slightly and sneezing as he crosses the threshold. Stiles flicks the deadbolt home and then locks the bottom lock just ‘cause.

Stiles gestures to the small kitchen which leads into the living room. “Well, here it is. It’s not really mine but it’s pretty nice. Sorry it’s so dark, though I doubt you really have a problem with that.” He pulls the rotisserie chicken from the fridge and tears off a chunk of white meat. “It’s cold. Hope you don’t mind.”

He holds out the meat with his hand flat, just like he’d been taught as a kid, and waits as Shadow sniffs for a moment before the dog nudges his palm so that the chicken falls on the floor and then eats it.

He frowns, confused, and rips off another piece of chicken, holding it out. “You don’t have to eat it off the floor, dude. That’s gross.”

Shadow huffs and shuffles his feet, clearly waiting for Stiles to put the chicken down. He figures it must be a training thing so he decides not to push the issue.

“At least let me get you a plate or something. I’ve definitely never swept this floor.” Stiles grabs a paper plate and puts some chicken on it before placing it in front of Shadow.

The dog looks at him then at the plate before slowly eating. Stiles sits at the table and pulls bits off to munch on himself.

By the time Shadow is licking the plate clean, Stiles feels less panicked and more contentedly full.

He’s watching Shadow from a few feet away, as the dog starts licking his paws and rubbing his face like a cat, which Stiles finds adorable. He’s close to cooing when suddenly there’s a tapping at the window on the back door.

He isn’t sure why he doesn’t scream. He’s scared enough to but instead he just slips to the floor and suddenly Shadow is there and pressed all along his left side, firmly between him and whoever is on the other side of the door.

Stiles tangles his hand in Shadow’s fur and feels the growl bubbling in his chest but doesn’t hear it. They sit like that for a moment, Stiles barely breathing to try and hear if there’s another sound.

Four taps, rest, four more taps, like someone drumming their fingers.

He squints his eyes but he can’t see anything because of how overcast the storm’s made the sky. His only reassurance is that whomever is outside can’t see him either. Stiles presses his face into the damp fur on Shadow’s shoulder and takes a shuddering breath.

Stiles waits, but he doesn’t hear anything else. They sit like that for at least twenty minutes before Shadow relaxes and turns his head, nudging the side of Stiles’ head. He does it again, taking a big sniff and licking Stiles’ cheek where Erica kissed him earlier that day.

“Well aren’t you suddenly affectionate?” Stiles mumbles, feeling punch drunk from adrenaline.

Shadow huffs and shifts, pressing his nose to the hollow in Stiles’ throat before trotting into the living room. Stiles doesn’t bother standing, just grabs his phone and moves along the floor, moving past boxes once he runs into them before he makes it to the couch and climbs onto it.

Stiles moves the back cushions onto the floor, pulls the lumpy quilt from the back of the couch and hunkers under it, wondering if he should call the cops or not. It may have been a homeless person seeking shelter from the storm, maybe someone who didn’t know that there was a renter in the house, or maybe a burglar using the storm as camouflage.

Honestly, if it hadn’t been for Shadow’s reaction, he would have just assumed it was his imagination or a noise from an old house.

Blinking his heavy eyes, Stiles decides he’ll just take a look in the morning and call if he has to. He reaches out and feels fur and he runs his hand along what he assumes is Shadow’s back.

“Come on, bud, get up here. You’re gonna help me sleep and not have a panic attack, okay?”

Shadow huffs again but obliges him by jumping up and lying along the edge of the couch.

“Good boy,” he murmurs as he slips off, fingers tangled in the fur along Shadow’s back.

He wakes up groggy, disoriented and stiff, with what feels like a hundred pounds of space heater on top of him. He looks down and just sees black fur and the crazy events of the night before come back to him. He reaches out and touches one black paw, squeezing the pad gently before Shadow jerks away and scrambles off of him.

“Well good morning to you too.” He stretches, stands and stretches again, scratching his belly and sides.

Shadow’s gaze flicks from him to the back door several times and finally he moves to stand by the door.

Stiles glances at his phone. 8:59 a.m.

“You’re right. We should go outside. I need to see if anything got stolen or vandalized last night.” He shoves his feet into a pair of old flip flops resting by the door and unlocks it, peering out before he lets Shadow through.

The dog moves along the wall, sniffing all over the porch before moving out into the yard, head up and eyes closed, before he moves towards the neighbor’s house on the left. He turns and lets out a soft yip at Stiles before walking again.

“Oh, right, follow you. Got it. This is likely to end well, I think.” He trots after Shadow and is glad that he automatically locks doors without thinking about it because he almost slips in a sizable puddle of blood when he comes around the corner.

Shadow starts growling again as Stiles tries to make sense of what he’s seeing.

At first, all his brain makes sense of is red. Red red red oh that’s insides. How pleasant.

When it finally clicks that this is…  _was_  a person, Stiles’ vision wavers and he alternates feeling like he’s gonna pass out and puke.

He takes six good steps back, trying to keep to his previous footsteps. He presses the call button and waits for his dad to pick up.

“Hey,” his dad sounds tired, “how did the rest of the night go?”

“Oh, well, you know,” Stiles starts, falling back on traditional snark, “ended up bonding with this stray dog that’s been hanging out around the house. He ended up sleeping inside with me and kept me from having a panic attack, which was incredibly kind of him.”

He looks over at Shadow who keeps sniffing the air and growling faintly.

His dad just huffs an amused breath but doesn’t interrupt so Stiles continues with, “Anyways, I know I should have probably called dispatch or something but autopilot, y’know, so yeah, I’m, uh, calling to report a dead body.”

He can hear his dad almost choke on whatever he’s drinking. “What? Are you okay?”

Stiles makes a sound that he hopes means he's okay but probably sounds like he’s gargling rocks.

“I’ll be there in four minutes. Don’t move. Don’t touch anything,” his dad stresses then the line goes dead.

“Yes, Sir,” Stiles mumbles to the dial tone and backs up a few feet before plopping down onto his ass and covering his face with both hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think. :)
> 
> Please remember: _I am not done revising the later chapters of the story. I currently work two jobs and have a very busy personal life so I am not sure when I will finish, only that I will finish it eventually._
> 
> Also: I've left the old chapters "up" still since I don't want to lose the comments, but they are empty of content for the time being. 
> 
> Next chapter will be up soon.
> 
> ily babbies  
> kisskiss  
> ♡ Scotch


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's been so supportive while I've been editing/revising.
> 
> Here's the new chapter 3 - hope you like it!

Stiles watches the police lights flash on the blood in the grass. It’s hypnotic, the repetitive flashes of light highlighting wet spots, though most of it has absorbed into the dirt by now.

_Blue. Red. Blue. Red. Blue. Red. Blue. Red. Blue. Red._

He sits in the back of the ambulance, clutching a shock blanket around himself, though he’s not sure he really needs it. He’s broken from his staring when his dad waves a hand in front of his face.

“Stiles, Son, look at me.” John’s voice sounds blurry and Stiles blinks, his brain slow as he tries to register his dad’s words.

Maybe he  _does_  need the shock blanket.

“Hey, Dad,” Stiles finally croaks.

John eyes him, frowning. “Are you sure you’re okay, kid? Nothing happened to you?”

“Nothing happened,” he assures his dad. “I’m fine.”

His dad knows him best so he knows he’s probably not being completely honest – honestly he’s probably on the verge of a panic attack – but he huffs and lets it go for now. “Alright. I’ll send Parrish over to get your statement.” His dad rubs his hand over Stiles’ messy hair, smoothing it a little as he says, “Love you, kid.”

“Love you too, Dad,” Stiles answers with the best half-smile he can muster.

It probably looks as bad as it feels because his dad winces then walks over to Parrish, jerking his thumb at Stiles and saying something to the deputy before clapping him on the shoulder and turning back to the crime scene.

“Hey, Stiles,” Parrish greets when he walks over, his voice warm, smile comforting and perfectly steady.

“Parrish,” Stiles greets. “Or is it Officer Parrish?”

“Just Parrish is fine, Stiles.” Parrish pulls out his notebook. “Why don’t you go ahead and tell me what happened, starting with last night.”

Stiles does, closing his eyes to shut out the flashing lights so that he can focus. In a bland voice, he states, “I woke up and the power was out because of the storm. I couldn’t sleep, called my dad, went downstairs for a snack, and checked on this stray dog that’s been lurking around here and sleeping on the porch.”

He swallows past the lump in his throat, wishing that Shadow had stayed with him but the dog had bolted the second Stiles heard cars in the driveway. When Stiles’ dad had flung himself at Stiles, he was still staring off into the trees after the dog.

Parrish’s stance shifts the slightest bit, jerking Stiles’ attention back.

“Sorry,” he mutters, clearing his throat. “Ah, so, anyways, I checked on the dog, he came inside and shared some chicken with me. Then, uh, someone was tapping on the window.” Stiles tries to ignore how his arms break out in goosebumps but he sees Parrish’s gaze flick down.

“Did you see what they looked like? Any sort of distinguishing features?” Parrish asks, still calm and cool.

“No.” Stiles pulls the blanket back over his arms. “It was dark and I probably would have played it off as the storm but it sounded like when someone drums their fingers on a table.”

“Like a clear pattern?” Parrish asks.

Stiles nods and watches as Parrish silently taps his fingers against the back of his notebook. His scalp prickles as Parrish’s fingers make the same pattern.

“How many times did they tap?”

“Three,” Stiles supplies, mouth pinching as he tries to keep from saying anything else, like how storms are essentially the worst things for him now or that he wishes Shadow would come back.

“And after that?”

“I waited but it seemed like they went away. I wasn’t going to go check if they were still outside so I went to the couch and fell back asleep. When I woke up this morning, the dog wanted outside, so I came out here and, uh…” Stiles swallows hard, trying not to let his stomach crawl into his throat. He manages to push it back and continues, “I saw, uh, all that, and I called my dad. That’s it.”

Parrish gives a short nod, finishes writing something, and closes his notebook. “That should be all for now. I’ll let you know if we need anything else.” He tucks the notebook away then regards Stiles with a keen look. “What kind of dog is it?”

“Hm?” Stiles asks, jerking his gaze from the yellow tape fluttering in the breeze.

“The stray that’s been lurking around.”

“Oh,” Stiles huffs, almost managing a real smile. “Did my dad tell you what happened when I got back into town?” Parrish nods. “Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure it was the dog that I almost hit. He’s got to be some sort of hybrid or something because he’s huge. I can totally see how I thought he was a wolf when it was the middle of the night.”

This time Parrish’s smile is less comforting and more ‘I know something you don’t know’. It’s not a look Stiles has ever seen on the deputy’s face before. Parrish’s tone is still friendly but definitely teasing when he asks, “Have you decided on a name?”

Stiles lifts one shoulder in a shrug, fibbing, “Pretty sure he belongs to someone, so I’m not sure I should be naming him.”

Parrish looks like he wants to say something but closes his mouth as two workers in full body protective suits start toward the crime scene.

Stiles bites his lip then asks, “So, uh, what happened?”

Parrish’s teasing humor goes out of his expression and he’s all Cop Face again. He answers, “At this point, we’re not sure. Just that it’s,” he pauses, likely looking for a word that won’t be too gruesome, and settles for, “messy.”

 _Jesus_. Stiles looks towards the taped off area again and realizes he didn’t even know the man’s name and now he’s dead. Just like that.

“Is it wrong to be glad that it wasn’t me?” he asks, only realizing he said it out loud when Parrish answers him.

“No.”

Stiles looks over at him and Parrish lifts one of his shoulders in a shrug. “It’s a thought that we’ve all had at one point or another.” Parrish looks back at the workers. “Glad that it’s not us, not one of ours.”

“Yeah,” Stiles mumbles, not sure what thoughts are running through Parrish’s head but knowing that they’re probably not good ones.

Parrish snaps out of his contemplation and gives Stiles his patented half-smile. “I’ll send Andrea over to give you one last check and you should be good to go.”

Stiles nods. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Parrish gives him a small salute then walks away to talk to the paramedics huddled next to one of the assistant coroners.

Andrea breaks off and heads over to Stiles. “Alright, Stilinski, let’s check your vitals, hm?”

He wants to tell her not to bother but he knows better than to argue with paramedics.

Andrea checks him over quickly then gives him a firm look. “I’m giving you the okay to go but if you have any issues, call someone. You have a prescription for anti-anxiety medication, correct?”

Stiles nods, thinking of his bottle of Zoloft that’s sitting next to the bathroom sink. He hadn’t gotten a chance to take it yet that morning, obviously distracted by other things.

Like finding his neighbor in pieces.

Jesus.

Andrea studies him before continuing, “Take your prescribed dosage and be sure you try not to wind yourself up, okay?” She puts a comforting hand on his knee. “I know you’ve seen something intense. If you have a doctor, I’d recommend calling them just to be sure.”

He hadn’t even looked into getting a therapist since he moved back home. He didn’t bother looking for one at school because the clinic there had been able to prescribe him what he needed.

He does a mental count of his pills and knows he needs to at least get a general practitioner. He wonders if his old pediatrician will still see him and almost smiles when he thinks about hopping up on the tiny exam table and swinging his feet.

“Stiles?”

He looks at Andrea and realizes he’d zoned out. “Oh, ah,” he clears his throat and nods. “Sorry, yeah, I’ll do that.”

She narrows her eyes at him but holds her hand out for the blanket. When he hands it back, she says, “Maybe you shouldn’t be alone. Do you have friends or family that could be with you right now?”

Stiles almost says no, since both his dad and Melissa are working, but he pauses. “Actually…” He thinks about the schedule he’d seen on the wall at the coffee shop. “Yeah, I’ve got someone.”

“Okay.”

“Thanks, Andy.”

She smiles at him and he sees the shadow of the girl she was in high school, a few grades older, a killer soccer player, and so much cooler than him. “It’s what I do, Stilinski.”

He manages a small laugh and walks over to his back porch, waiting for his dad to notice him. He waves a little when his dad looks over.

“Sure you’re gonna be alright, kid?” his dad asks when he reaches Stiles.

“Yeah,” Stiles tries to assure him.

“I have to be here, obviously, and I’ve got another few hours on my shift, but I can call Melissa and see if she can get off work early.”

“No, no.” Stiles shakes his head. “I’m, uh, I’m actually gonna go see if Erica’s free.”

“Erica.” His dad blinks, smiling a little. “Haven’t seen Blondie in a while. How’s she doing?”

“She’s good.”

“I’m glad to hear it. That’s a good idea, go spend time with her, but,” his dad holds up two fingers, “remember this is an open investigation and if she’s not available, call me.”

“You got it, Daddio.” Stiles shoots a finger-gun and attempts to grin.

It seems to work since his dad rolls his eyes and pulls him in for a hug. “Be safe.”

“Of course,” Stiles says, face pressed against the fabric of his dad’s shirt. He breathes in the familiar smell from his childhood – cologne and the same brand of detergent the Stilinski’s have used for years – and feels better.

“Love you.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

\-----

When Stiles pulls into a parking spot around the corner from Hallowed Grounds, he lets out a shaky breath. He probably shouldn’t have driven or taken two of his pills, but his fingers have finally stopped shaking so he figures it’s not that bad.

He gets out and takes a deep lungful of warm air before heading to the shop. The bell tinkles above his head when he walks in, hit forcefully by the air conditioning.

His stomach drops a little bit when he sees Cora behind the counter.

She looks up at him, the scowl on her face dropping a little when she notices who it is. “What happened?” she asks harshly, though there’s the slightest note of concern in her voice that throws him off a bit.

“Uh…” He tries to think of something to say that won’t completely reveal what happened – open case and all that – and settles for, “There was an accident at my neighbor’s and I was wigged out so I was hoping to see Erica.”

“She went out to pick up some milk.” Cora studies him for a moment before she jerks her chin at him. “You might as well help me out while you wait for her.”

Stiles nods and walks behind the counter, hooking his keys next to the coffee grinder. He turns and sees a half-eaten sandwich on a plate next to Cora’s elbow. Despite his morning and everything that’s happened, Stiles’ stomach clenches and gurgles.

Cora arches an eyebrow at him. “Hungry?” she asks, though her tone almost makes it more of a statement.

“Shockingly, yes.” He looks around for the sandwich stuff but the bell above the door chimes and they both look over to see Coach Finstock stride in.

“Bilinski!” Coach calls, throwing an arm up. “I thought you were out of here, being a big shot writer.”

Cora snorts and moves away from the register, taking her sandwich with her. Stiles glares at her back for a moment before turning to Coach who’s also sending Cora a narrow-eyed look.

Stiles smiles, realizing he’d maybe missed Coach a little bit. “I wrote one book. It doesn’t mean I’m suddenly wealthy, Coach.”

“Well, we can’t all be like Brittany Spears.” With that weird comment, Coach walks up the counter and doesn’t bother looking at the menu. “Do you know how to make a Turtle Frappe?”

“Sure do,” Stiles chirps, moving over to the blender to start the process, not even surprised at the order. Coach has a sweet tooth the size of Texas and all his players, past and present, are aware of it.

When Stiles hands the drink over the counter, Coach drops a wad of bills by the register and takes a giant pull from his straw that makes Stiles wince. He almost asks Coach if he gets brain freezes then stops himself because god only knows what the man has rattling around between his ears.

“Bye, Coach,” Stiles calls, sorting out the bills and dropping the change into the jar.

“Stay sharp, Bilinski, and _pay_ _attention_ ,” Coach calls back before snagging a trashy romance novel off the library shelf and walking out to settle at one of the tables outside.

“He’s so fucking weird,” Cora says from Stiles’ left.

Stiles turns to agree and sees two sandwiches on a green plate. He watches as Cora walks toward the sinks, licking mustard off a butter knife before dropping it into the soapy water.

“Uh, thanks,” he says, reaching for one of the sandwiches. “You didn’t have to do that. I would’ve made it.”

Cora just shrugs. “You don’t know how to make it. There’s a trick with the condiments to make it perfect.”

Stiles takes a big bite then another. “’S good,” he manages through his full mouth.

She snorts, looking slightly disgusted and slightly pleased.

He swallows and looks at the sandwich. “What is it?”

“Turkey, roast beef, and provolone,” she tells him as she moves back to the computer. “Light on the mayo, heavy on the mustard.” She taps at her phone screen.

“It’s perfect.” He takes another bite.

Cora shrugs again and says without looking up from her phone, “It’s how Mom made it.”

He stops chewing for a moment, his chest tight as he thinks of his own mom, then keeps eating until he finishes both sandwiches.

Erica still isn’t back when he’s done so he washes his dish and all the others sitting in the sink. He starts wiping tables and is thinking about sweeping a bit when the front door chimes and Laura walks in.

“Hey guys,” she greets. She looks harried and there’s a smudge of dirt on her jaw, but she’s smiling.

“You stink,” Cora announces, nose wrinkling as she looks at her sister.

Stiles doesn’t know how she can smell Laura from where she’s standing but Laura just rolls her eyes and says, “I know. I’m going upstairs to shower.”

Cora mutters something under her breath, still scowling, though she lessens the expression into a frown when a couple walks in.

Stiles wonders if the customers are ever quite used to the strange mix of personalities of the baristas as he glances up at the wall of photos. A paper cutout heart has been added around the picture of him and Erica and he grins, glad he’s spending time with her again.

The blonde girl walks through the door a few seconds later, as if Stiles had summoned her with his thoughts. Her hair is a snarl, like it’s been whipped around in the wind, and she smiles at him, razor sharp.

“Hey, Batman,” she purrs as she rounds the counter and puts down two grocery bags, not looking surprised to see him.

“Catwoman,” he greets with a small salute.

She puts the milk into the cooler then hops up to sit on the back counter, legs an incredibly long line. Cora pushes past her, making a drink at the blenders.

“Me- _ow_ ,” he sings over the grinding of ice, “you’re looking fresh to death today.” He leans across from her and she pens him in, placing her little ankle boots by his hips.

“Always, darling, always.” She pulls her hair over her shoulder and starts untangling it with her fingers. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company? You’re not due in until four.”

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Stiles rubs at his hair. “There was, uh…”

“Like I texted, something happened to his neighbor,” Cora announces, shoving a cup at Stiles.

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, accepting the cup and glancing at the orange color before taking a sip of what turns out to be a smoothie. “Thanks,” he tells her.

She just rolls her eyes and goes back to messing with her phone.

Stiles looks back at Erica and notices her studying him. “What happened?” she asks.

“I can’t really say much,” he warns, “but the guy was, uh, in pieces?” He doesn’t mean to phrase it as a question but it comes out that way regardless.

Erica freezes and Cora whips her head over to look at him. The two women stare at him for a moment before Erica’s feet squeeze his hips a little. “Are you okay?” she demands, eyes fierce.

“No, I mean, yes!” He waves his hand. “I’m fine. It just kind of shook me up. I sort of found him, uh, in the backyard.” _All over the backyard_ , he adds silently, feeling sick enough to put the smoothie down.

“What did your dad say?” Erica asks.

“Just to be safe and call him if I needed anything.” He shrugs. “I’m just gonna be sure I lock my doors and try not to have too many nightmares if I can help it.”

She looks like she wants to ask him more but he derails her by saying, “So I was thinking about what you said and I might make an Instagram. Wanna help me pick a profile picture?”

She clearly knows he’s trying to distract her but she nods, taking the bait. “Sure.”

“Cool.” He pulls out his phone and starts the process.

“This one,” Erica says a few minutes later when they’re going through his gallery to find a profile picture.

“God, really?” he asks, studying the picture.

It’s a shot of him on the beach in Ireland from his semester abroad, framed against the shore with a slew of sheep on the hill behind him. He grins, remembering how clean the air off the water had smelled and how the earth seemed to feel different under his feet.

“It’s a little…” he starts.

“I think it’s romantic,” Erica states, turning the phone toward Cora. “Don’t you think, Cor?”

“Yeah,” Cora agrees, not looking away from where she’s grinding coffee for a new pot.

Erica rolls her eyes. “Ignore her.” She gives the phone back to Stiles. “I’m serious. This one.”

“Fine.” Stiles selects the picture then stalls at the bio line before he simply types, _author & nerd_.

“Perfect,” Erica laughs, then snatches his phone. “Now, for your first post.” She reels him in close, taking a selfie with him and handing his phone back.

The caption reads: _The most beautiful girl in the world #luckyme #besties_

He laughs but doesn’t change it before uploading it.

“Okay, so now I’m going to add you and you can tag me in the picture.”

Erica pulls her phone out, waits until he follows her and tags her, then proceeds to give him a crash course in the app. He’s at least passing familiar with most of what she says but he lets her do it, content to lean next to her and see her smile.

“Do you have anything else you want to post?” Erica asks when she’s done with her tutorial.

Stiles flicks through his pictures and stops on the one of Shadow.

Erica leans over and studies the picture for a moment before making a curious sound. “Where did you get that?”

“I took it. There’s a dog that’s been lurking around my house for a while.” He pauses then repeats himself from this morning, “I think he’s the ‘wolf’ I almost hit when I got back to town.”

Erica grins and says, “That’s interesting. I can see why you might have thought that. He certainly looks _wolfish_.”

Cora perks up, looking over and Stiles obligingly turns the phone toward her. She studies it then gives an amused snort.

Erica mutters, “I know, right?”

Stiles looks between the two of them and asks, “What’s so funny?”

Cora waves her hand and continues to make coffee.

Stiles turns back to Erica as she asks, “Did you name him?”

Stiles wonders why people keep asking him that and shrugs. He tells her truthfully, “I’ve been calling him Shadow, since he lurks so well. He’s probably someone’s pet, though, so I’m trying not to get attached.”

“Well,” Erica says, hopping off the counter, “he’s certainly cute.” She taps the photo and sounds vaguely disapproving as she adds, “Not wearing a collar, though, so who knows?”

“True,” Stiles concedes, looking at the picture again before he decides to post it.

 _Majestic new friend. Imma call him Shadow_ _#pupsofinstagram_

“Do you make a habit of taking in stray animals, Stiles?” Cora asks.

He holds his arms out, head high. “If they come to me, they will be loved!”

Erica reaches out and ruffles his hair. “You’re a terrible person, but you’ve got a good soul, Stiles.”

He ducks out of her reach before she can give him a noogie – he knows how she operates. “Only to animals. People kinda suck.”

“Preach,” Erica agrees. “I’m gonna grab some cups.” She returns with five tubes of cups and a freshly showered Laura.

“Hey, Stiles,” Laura greets, coming behind the counter and pulling up the sales at the computer. “You’re here early.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, not wanting to get into it. He starts organizing the stack of sticky notes by color, grabbing a purple one and doodling on it.

“So, I heard you have a dog.”

“You’re a terrible gossip,” he tells Erica and she shrugs. He turns back to Laura. “Sort of? He’s not really mine. I just give him somewhere to chill, I guess.”

She smiles, leaning closer and pressing her shoulder against his.

Stiles has noticed that none of the workers at  _Hallowed Grounds_  have any real concept of personal space with each other. Stiles is now included in the no-space practice. Customers are kept at a normal length, but the staff members frequently press near to each other, even the non-couples.

Stiles actually really likes it, so he doesn’t say anything lest they stop.

“That’s cool. Erica showed me the picture. He’s really adorable.”

Stiles laughs. “He’s got a weird temperament, honestly, like he’s too good for me sometimes.”

Cora starts snickering and Laura rolls her eyes. “Yeah, we know people like that.” She moves a little closer, throwing her arm over his shoulders. “Erica also said there was an accident at your neighbor’s house. You be sure to be safe, okay?”

Cora chimes in, “At least until they catch the crazy person that hacked up your neighbor.”

“Cora, don’t be macabre,” Laura admonishes, looking so done with her sister’s nonsense.

Stiles grins and bumps his hip against Laura’s. “It’s cool. I’ll be safe. Promise.”

“Good.” She rubs her hand over the top of his head - he wonders if she even realizes she’s practically petting him - and ruffles his hair. “I’m gonna head out. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Sure thing, Boss Lady.”

She rolls her eyes and leaves.

“I’m gonna catch a lift with her since you’re already here,” Erica announces. Cora sighs and Erica flips her off before grinning at Stiles. “I’ll see you later, Batman.”

“Until then, Catwoman,” he says in a gravelly voice.

The rest of the shift passes peacefully. The only weird part is that Cora keeps feeding him.

She shoves a blueberry muffin at him around five and makes him another smoothie around six, this one green with bits of mint in it. At seven-thirty, she points to half a bagel smothered with cream cheese and he eats it gladly, though he’s a little surprised because Cora’s not exactly the warmest person he knows.

At nine o’clock, Stiles scrapes the toe of his sneaker on the sidewalk as Cora locks the front door. She starts walking, heading the same direction he’s parked in so he ambles alongside her.

He stops at his Jeep and gives a small wave as he unlocks the door and gets inside. It’s not until he’s started it up that he realizes she’s walking back the other way. He pulls out of the space and drives back toward the shop, watching as she climbs into a small SUV.

He waits a few seconds at the light then turns toward home. Though he’s appreciative, he’s also left wondering why on Earth she’d walked him to his car.

\-----

Stiles turns on all the lights in the house when he gets home, not even stepping fully into the kitchen, just slapping at the wall until he can find the light switch.

He’s trying not to think about anything at all, just checks that all the curtains are closed tight against the dark windows and plops onto the couch.

He sends an email to Chase, his contact at the publisher, and adds that he got an Instagram. He’s sure Chase will be happy since he’s been on Stiles’ case about PR and fan interaction. Stiles isn’t actually sure he’s got enough fans to warrant that, but it’s neither here nor there.

He ends up falling asleep fully dressed with his shoes on. He wakes up later from a nightmare where he’s stuck outside in a storm and all he can hear is tapping. His heart is hammering and he’s sweating.

He closes his laptop and goes upstairs for another careful shower, since he still hasn’t gotten his shit together and gotten a shower curtain.

He brushes his teeth and climbs into bed, hopeful that he can get a little rest. Turning on his music, he takes a couple of deep breaths and ends up falling asleep while scrolling through Erica’s Instagram feed.

\-----

The next morning, his phone chimes at some ungodly hour and he slaps it, turning off the alarm and falling back asleep almost immediately.

Eventually, a bunch of soft pings rouse him and he blearily blinks at his screen when he pulls his phone out from under the blanket. His phone’s clock tells him that it’s nearly one and he doesn’t even feel bad that he slept so long.

There’s quite a few Instagram notifications on his screen. He grins when he sees _mccallmemaybe_ has started following him. He follows Scott back. He’s pretty sure _kitkat_kira_ is Scott’s Kira so he follows her back, too.

He clicks on some of the other usernames and finds Laura – _laura.hale_ – and Isaac, of all people. He snorts at Isaac’s username and figures Erica must have made it because he can’t see Isaac picking _iheartericareyes12_. He follows Isaac back and scrolls through a list of people that he’s never heard of before.

It’s strange, looking at the list of usernames and realizing these are people who think he’s interesting enough to follow, even though he’s got a grand total of two pictures on his account.

He decides that a bed-head selfie is a good idea and snaps a quick picture, oddly pleased with how disgruntled and sleepy he looks and how the sunlight is barely coloring the room. He posts it with a single hashtag: _#whyamiawake_.

After pulling himself from the bed, groaning the whole time, he brushes his teeth with his eyes mostly closed. He picks up the phone to text Erica about his shift and sees that he’s got almost thirty more notifications.

“Wha thuh fuhg?” he mumbles through a mouthful of foam.

He’s about to swipe all of them away when he gets a text. The vibration makes him jump and he sputters some foam onto his chin.

Growling in annoyance, he wipes off his chin, spits, and opens the message.

**_From Catwoman:_ **

**_Hey Batman, can you come in early? Laura needs Boyd to help her pick up supplies._ **

He taps out an affirmative, rinses out his mouth, throws on clothes, and is out the door in fifteen minutes. But first, he texts his dad and lets him know that he’s doing okay, since he knows his dad worries about him.

The shift passes uneventfully, though Cora spends all day feeding him again, which is frankly just weirding him out. He also spends half the shift texting with Erica, enjoying the links that she sends for outdoor seating that wouldn’t require him to really build much. He has his eye on a long, low bench that’s wide enough for four people to sit comfortably – or one person and a very grumpy dog.

At seven, Stiles hands Cora her half of the tips, slips his money in his pocket, and heads to the door. He blows kisses at Erica as he passes her on her way in.

The blonde grins, murmuring something that makes Cora grin. Stiles isn’t sure he wants to know what she said, judging by the mischievous glint in her pretty brown eyes.

When he gets home, he settles on the couch to write a little bit. He’s doing pretty well, typing out a decent fight scene when he hears something at the back door. He freezes, listens hard for the sound and hears it again.

Scratching. Heavy scratching.

Stiles rolls himself to his feet, creeping toward the door on his tiptoes. The kitchen tiles are cool under his bare feet. He cranes his neck just enough to peer out the window. He doesn’t see anything but the back yard, grass a little churned up from the police and emergency people.

Something huge and black appears in the window and he yelps, falling flat on his back. He puts a hand to his chest and falls fully back when he realizes it’s only Shadow, blowing out a relieved breath. He hears a yip after a few minutes and he looks up, seeing Shadow still there, staring at him expectantly.

“Jesus fuck, are you trying to kill me?” he demands, feeling his heart pounding against his palm.

Shadow yips again and presses his nose to the glass, leaving a wet mark and a long burst of fogged up glass behind as he snorts and drops out of sight. He’s probably reacting to whatever the police had used to get prints from the door.

“I should just leave you out there,” Stiles grumbles as he pulls himself up to walk over and unlock the door, opening it just enough for Shadow to slip past him before he shuts and locks it again. He twists, leaning against the door, noticing the muddy dog prints leading to Shadow’s spot on the floor.

“So, how was your day?” he asks pleasantly.

Shadow, sitting a few feet away, gives him a look and snorts again, trotting toward the living room, leaving a trail of brown paws behind him.

Stiles pushes off the door, watching as Shadow paces for a moment before jumping onto the couch and settling there, looking at Stiles as if to say  _Well, come on_  when he just stands in the doorway and stares.

“You are the bossiest dog I’ve ever met,” he informs Shadow. “Also, you’re going to get the couch dirty. It’s not even my couch,” he complains. “And you don’t even care.”

Shadow flicks his ears at him, looking disgruntled or as disgruntled as a dog can look.

Stiles settles on the couch, pulling his computer onto his lap and resuming his work.

Shadow huffs a sound that Stiles may dare to call contented and puts his head on Stiles’ knee, behind the screen of the laptop.

Stiles leans forward and looks down at him before leaning back and trying to stifle a laugh.

He types until he can’t see anymore, his eyes blurry, feeling scratchy when he tries to blink them clear. He saves his progress, a good thirty pages, and closes the laptop. Reaching out, he passes the very tips of his fingers over Shadow’s ear.

The dog flicks his ear then looks at him. If Stiles had to describe it, he’d say it was a scowl.

“God I need more friends,” he complains, rubbing his face. “I’m anthromorphising a stray dog.”

Shadow huffs another small sound and rests his chin on Stiles’ laptop, looking at him with strangely light-colored grey-green eyes. He bobs his head for a moment, jerking his nose up.

“Are you even a stray?” Stiles muses. “You aren’t wearing a collar but you seem pretty well fed.” He pokes at Shadow’s ribs and the dog peels his lip back on one side, showing teeth but not growling. Stiles chuckles. “That’s not to say that you’re fat. I just think you don’t look like a stray. I suppose you could be an unnaturally pretty stray.” He hums to himself as he thinks.

“Maybe,” he says slowly, “I’m where you go to get away from your real family.”

Shadow stiffens, shifting for a moment and looking at Stiles with such a mournful expression that Stiles feels like his heart might break.

“I don’t mind, really. I enjoy the company. I’m lonely, as shitty as that feels to say out loud.”

Shadow lays his head back down, though he does shift a little closer, pressing against Stiles’ side where he’s slid down the couch in a slouch.

“Okay, I’m definitely anthromorphising you,” Stiles mumbles a little bit later, “but you have a super expressive face, dude.”

Shadow’s tail flicks and Stiles wonders if he maybe is starting to go a little crazy – either from second-book-stress or from his neighbor being hacked into pieces – since it seems like Shadow is _genuinely_ _responding_ to what he’s saying, not just doing regular dog things.

Then again, he’s not sure. Never having owned a dog and not getting to spend too long with the puppies at the vet office, he’s not really an expert on canine behavior. Still, this seems weird.

He should call Scott. He hasn’t talked to him for longer than a few minutes since he got to town. He reaches for his phone and sees that it’s almost three in the morning and decides he’ll call Scott tomorrow, er, later today.

He drops back, continuing to run his fingers through Shadow’s fur, scratching as he starts then lessening the pressure as moves his hand down to his flank then back up again. He gently pulls his laptop from under Shadow’s head and places it on the coffee table along with his phone and notebook.

He scoots to lie down fully, pulling the cushion from behind his back to under his head. He moves carefully, trying not to dislodge Shadow. It doesn’t work.

Shadow looks at him, stands, and hops onto the floor, trotting back toward the door.

Stiles huffs, hoping he wouldn’t have to get back up but he does, letting Shadow out with a soft, “Night, dude.”

Shadow disappears into the night.

Stiles smiles and shuts the door, locking it before trudging upstairs and faceplanting in bed.

\-----

_Derek is an idiot._

_He ignores the way that the morning dew wets his paws, the chatter of the bats and various rustles of nighttime rodents, and curses himself for cuddling with Stiles._

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._

_He sighs, trying to push out of his head the way Stiles smells:_ _paper and grass and the high ozone burn of electronics and the sourness of exhaustion mixed with something familiar he can’t place, though it could be the lingering scents of his pack mates on Stiles’ skin and clothes._

_He snorts to clear his nose, something he’s doing quite often lately, because Stiles’ smell makes him feel weird._

_God, he should just stop going around._

_It’s just… Stiles is lonely and maybe, well, maybe Derek is too, though he’s really the only one to blame for that. He sequesters himself in his cabin most of the time. Though there is a difference in desiring his alone time and feeling lonely…_

_He trots up onto the porch of his cabin and goes inside, letting the shift roll over him. He pulls on gym shorts and leans in the doorway, looking out into the night and listening closely for anything strange._

_Something is in their woods and it’s making him uneasy._

_The fact that whatever it is targeted Stiles is coincidental, probably, but it still makes Derek’s hackles rise to think about it. The smell is strong, distinct enough to recognize if he only had a name for it, some point of reference._

_He and the rest of the pack have been patrolling, scouring the woods trying to follow the scent but it disappears after a while, so the main idea is that whatever it is, it can either mask its scent, it has multiple hidey-holes, or that it can fly._

_Derek hates dangerous things that fly._

_What he hates even more than that is something dangerous that can maybe fly targeting what belongs to the pack because Stiles can’t even defend himself._

_Derek sighs, rubbing his face and cursing under his breath, not even bothering to backpedal on his thoughts because – goddammit – Stiles is_ theirs _, very likely since the day he came back to Beacon Hills. It probably seems shockingly quick, but that’s sort of how their pack works these days, despite any past events._

_Stiles reeks of Laura, who must touch him all the time, and Erica, who is remarkably like a baby koala with people she likes, a little less so of the others. The touch of their Alpha combined with all the other small touches has made it pretty obvious to anyone who can smell it._

_Stiles Stilinski belongs to the Beacon Hills pack._

_Derek’s not sure how he feels about that._

_Okay, correction: Derek’s not going to think about how he maybe sort of is starting to feel about that…_

_Since he decides not to think about it, naturally as soon as he goes back to the main house and starts rooting around the refrigerator, he finds a rotisserie chicken and it makes him smile. Like, the fuck?_

_It’s dumb but now he’s thinking about Stiles and how amused he’d been when Derek refused to eat from his hand, how he’d gotten him a plate and ate with him._

_“Hungry?”_

_Derek turns and sees Erica leaning on the island counter, looking rumpled and comfortable in a pair of pajama pants and a baggy t-shirt._

_“Not for chicken,” Derek says firmly, putting the container back and pulling out broccoli casserole instead._

_She snorts but ignores the fervor in his tone about the chicken. “Where were you?” she asks, levering herself onto the island counter as Derek puts his food in the microwave._

_He turns, catching her knowing grin, and figures he should answer honestly since she’s clearly able to smell it on him. “I was at Stiles’.”_

_“Oh?” she coos, not bothering to feign innocence anymore. “And how, exactly, do_ _you_ _know Stiles since you barely come into the shop and he’s never been here,” she waves her hand around, indicating the house in general, “before?”_

_“That…” he starts then stops. He’s not really sure what to say. He doesn’t particularly feel bad about hanging out with Stiles, though a part of him has wanted to talk to Stiles with his human face for a while now._

_“‘That’?” she echoes, swinging her feet with barely contained glee._

_“Oh shut up, would you,” he growls, opening the door to stir his food before starting it again. They need a new microwave – theirs can’t heat for shit anymore._

_“I guess I can do that,” she sighs, sounding incredibly put-upon at the notion._

_Derek silently thanks the universe and enjoys the blessed seven seconds of silence before Erica predictably starts talking again._

_“You know, you’ve been a lot more bearable lately.” There’s no meanness in her words, simply fact, and yeah, Derek’s not always the most approachable. “Maybe I’ll go spend some time with Stiles in my fur,” she muses. “If it chills you out this much, it’s sure to do wonders for my temperament.”_

_He scowls at her, barely able to keep the growl that’s prickling at his throat at bay. He takes a breath and says, rather calmly, “Laura might not approve.”_

_“Yeah,” she drawls, not put off by his reaction. “But I’d actually have my collar on like I’m_ _supposed_ _to so I don’t think Laura would get mad at me.”_

_He mutters under his breath what he thinks about those stupid collars and grabs his food before the timer can go off._

_“You know we’re supposed to wear them for a good reason,” she chides._

_“Yeah, well, wearing mine makes my skin crawl.” He digs into the casserole and finds that it’s pretty evenly heated._

_He leans against the counter across from her and starts eating in earnest. They stare at each other, neither speaking until Derek’s finished and put his bowl and fork into the dishwasher._

_“That reminds me!” She’s back to her faux-innocent tone and Derek stiffens. “Stiles said something about a bench that he wants to build since he’s always sitting on the ground when he writes outside. I showed him some stuff and I think he picked out this huge thing that’s practically an outdoor couch.” She rolls her eyes, clearly amused. “Can you imagine?”_

_Actually, damn him, he can._

_Derek thinks about a bench where he could actually stretch out comfortably on Stiles’ porch, maybe even have Stiles run his fingers along the bridge of Derek’s nose the slow way he’s done once before. Derek can imagine the tap-tap of Stiles’ fingers on his keyboard, can feel the way the sun will rest as it goes down behind Stiles’ house._

_Derek can’t help but let out a small, happy rumble at the thought and… oh no, no no, oh hell…_

_Erica stares at him, amusement dancing in her widened eyes. She gives him a wide, white-toothed grin but, for once, incredibly, she doesn’t say a damn word. She just sits there, looking all smug and intolerable._

_Derek scowls at her again and leaves the kitchen without replying, making his way upstairs to his room. He doesn’t slam his door because he’s an adult but also because it drives Laura crazy when they do that._

_Flopping down on his bed, he heaves a heavy sigh because he’s sooooo fucked._

_And also, again because he’s an adult, he resolves to meet Stiles officially, face to face, well, non-furred face._

_He just needs a reason that won’t seem strange enough to make the rest of the pack realize something is up._

_Erica is bad enough._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think. :)
> 
> Please remember: I am not done revising the later chapters of the story. I currently work two jobs and have a very busy personal life so I am not sure when I will finish, only that I will finish it eventually.
> 
> Also: I've left the old chapters "up" still since I don't want to lose the comments, but they are empty of content for the time being.
> 
> Next chapter will be up soon.
> 
> kisskiss  
> ♡ Scotch


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! I don't really celebrate Valentine's Day - for many reasons, it's whatever - but what I _do_ celebrate is the opportunity to give people gifts.
> 
> With that being said, here's another chapter!
> 
> I hope you enjoy it, lovies!

On Tuesday, Stiles stands back and takes a look at his new bench. He really likes the design and he's glad it fits on the porch, since he didn’t measure the space at all before buying it.

Shadow watches judgmentally from the top of the steps, just like he watched the whole assembly process with strangely rapt attention.

“What do you think?” he asks the dog, hands on his hips. He’s almost proud of this though he knows he’s built more complex things before.

The dog stares at him with the most human-looking expression of exasperation that Stiles drops his hands from his hips, slightly freaked out but more put-out than anything.

“Pah, like you would know!” Stiles finally says, waving his hands dismissively at the dog. “And now,” he announces, turning around and lowering himself slowly, “the final test.”

Shadow snorts and flops down, turning his head out toward the yard just as Stiles puts his rump on the cushion.

“Daaammnn.” He settles his weight, wiggling around and really enjoying that he’d splurged for the large back pillows. “This is nice,” he groans, stretching a little, and Shadow makes a growling huff sound and shifts so he’s facing forward with his eyes closed.

“You jelly?” he asks the dog. “You don’t have to be all lime green over there. You can come up here too.” Stiles pats the spot next to him. “It’s super  _comfy_ ,” he practically sings.

Shadow doesn’t even acknowledge him, just inhales deeply and lets out a long breath.

“Grumpy Butt,” Stiles mumbles with a smile, pushing himself to his feet so he can go grab his computer.

He quickly gets comfortable and looks around the yard, listening tensely for a moment. He’s able to admit that he’s still a little jumpy. His dad’s kept him updated – no leads, patchy evidence, no other incidents – so he’s not in the dark, but he’s definitely a bit twitchy.

He figures he’s really only feeling comfortable enough to be on the porch because Shadow has now stretched out completely across the top of the stairs, head on his paws and eyes closed, ears moving slightly every time there’s a sound.

Stiles settles in to writing, pausing every once in a while to look out at the yard or think about stray plot points.

When Shadow’s head lifts up and he looks off at the trees, Stiles jumps so hard he almost drops his laptop. He follows the direction Shadow is looking and sees a dog that looks like a Siamese cat, all cream colored fur except around its face, paws, and tail.

The dog stands on the edge of the tree line, watching Shadow watch it. After a moment, Shadow snorts, dropping his head back to rest on his paws.

Apparently it’s some sort of canine permission or acknowledgement because the dog trots over, tail wagging, ears perked forward. It pops up the stairs, jumps over Shadow, who flicks his tail at it, and almost dances up to Stiles. It plants its paws on the edge of the bench and leans forward, head-butting Stiles in the chest with a happy sound.

He laughs. “Hey there, beautiful, er,” he glances at the dog’s belly, “girl.” He strokes her head as she presses her wet nose to his cheek. “What’s your name?” He pulls back, feeling a collar catch on his fingers. He turns the small charm over and sees  _Sugar_  etched into the silver crown shaped tag.

“Sugar? Someone’s a princess, huh?” he comments as he continues to pet her. She hops up then collapses over his legs and nudges the laptop out of the way as she wriggles, baring her stomach for scratching. “You’re a cutie and you know it, don’t you, gorgeous?” He scratches her stomach, cooing.

After a bit, he’s lying on his side, wriggling around and taking pictures of himself and Sugar who keeps snorting or licking his face every time he tries to get a good shot. Most of what he has so far are flashes of fur and his own laughing face.

“See how easy our relationship could have been, Shadow?” he calls to the black  _lump_  who’s looking at the two of them balefully with his eerie, pale eyes.

Shadow snorts and closes his eyes but Stiles doesn’t take it personally. He’s got a silly pup who seems to enjoy squirming around with him. Shadow’s free to grump it up.

After a while, he stops trying to take pictures of Sugar and starts scrolling through the ones he has, finding a really good one of both of them with their eyes closed, both with their mouths open, though Stiles’ tongue doesn’t loll out like hers does.

“You, my beautiful girl, are going to be famous,” he informs her as he uploads the picture to his Instagram.

_Casa Stilinski is the place to be if you’re a cool pup. This is Sugar. #isntshecute_

After that, he sits up, opens his laptop again and starts writing, Sugar settling next to him with a contented sound. He writes until the sun starts to go down, the shadows lengthening. He saves his progress, sends the pages to his editor, and stands, stretching with a groan.

Sugar stands and stretches too then nudges his leg with her nose. She gives a happy yip then hops off the bench, nudging Shadow as she passes. He grunts, rising to his feet to follow after her.

Stiles watches the two of them trot off into the trees before he goes inside, locks the door, and heads upstairs to sleep in the bed like a normal person.

The next day, after a particularly strange mid-day shift where Cora kept sniffing in his general direction, he’s sitting on the bench and writing when Shadow huffs loudly.

Stiles looks up and sees a dog with dark red fur sitting next to Shadow. Stiles eyes the black dog, who didn’t even move, and holds his hand out to the new dog.

“Hey there cutie.”

The dog moves past Shadow, hitting him in the face with its tail before plopping within easy petting range.

Before Stiles gives in to petting those fluffy red ears, he reaches down for the collar tag. “Cinnamon,” he says, giving the dog a look. “Who’s gonna show up next: Pepper? Cumin?”

Cinnamon drops her mouth open and pants happily so Stiles goes ahead and pets her head.

“You are a precious little ginger,” he informs her before patting the bench next to him. “Come on sweet thing.”

Cinnamon hops up next to him and settles immediately, looking up at him with her yellow eyes.

“It has become clear to me that I’m running a doggie day camp,” he states. “Shadow, you’re the senior counselor. You can help me organize the camp activities. I’m thinking Tug of War, water balloon fights, and s’mores, like  _all_  the s’mores. But, you know, without chocolate.”

Shadow’s tail gives the slightest wag at the goofy tone in his voice and Stiles counts it as a victory before he starts writing again.

\-----

The next week is relatively uneventful: wake up, work, hang out with some combination of the dogs on the porch and write until the sun goes down, shower, then sleep a couple of hours if he’s lucky.

The only thing that’s strange is that he feels like he’s being watched on Sunday evening.

He casts his eyes to the trees, looks over at the neighbor’s house – er… former neighbor’s house – but doesn’t see anything. The neighbors on the other side are hidden by a fence and a smattering of tall shrubbery so there’s nothing on that side either.

The dogs don’t seem to notice anything though, as they laze in the fading sunlight, Sugar on the bench and Cinnamon stretched out on the ground in front of it.

He knows he’s probably just paranoid, but his skin itches to the point that he can’t focus and he ends up going inside before the sun really sets, unable to get the weird feeling to go away.

_\-----_

When Stiles walks into the shop Wednesday morning, Isaac is staring blearily at the computer screen. “Hey Isaac,” he calls as he comes around the counter and hangs up his keys.

Isaac grunts at him, not even looking away from the screen.

“You okay, man?” Stiles asks, pulling the lever of the grinder to prepare a triple shot for himself.

“Muh,” Isaac mumbles and shakes his head a little, rubbing his eyes. “Not sleeping well. Been up late the past couple of nights.”

“I feel you, that sucks.” Stiles shrugs and presses the brew button. “I can’t really give you any advice though. Even with how tired I am, sometimes I just can’t sleep when I’m supposed to.” He froths some milk then pours it in with the shots, washes the pitcher. He returns to his cup, taking a deep sip as he moves to log himself into the computer.

Isaac looks at him sharply, as if it’s taken this long for Stiles’ words to trickle through his brain, then leans closer so their shoulders touch. He sniffs sharply, like he’s about to sneeze. He doesn’t, just sniffs again and clears his throat.

Stiles thinks of Cora’s sniffling and decides to step a little further from Isaac just in case there’s a bug going around. He can’t afford to be sick on top of everything else.

Isaac seems to deflate a little bit at the distance but doesn’t say anything about it, just mumbles about organizing the mugs and starts digging around on the shelves in the back of the shop by the sink and cooler for the next three hours. He emerges a few times when Stiles needs back up then immediately returns to his self-banishment.

Stiles wipes the counters and restocks everything between customers. He’s feeling pretty good overall, despite his own lack of sleep from being up too late writing, and turns some chill music on but keeps the volume low so as to not disturb the customers that are working on stuff.

The rest of the downtime during the shift is filled with Stiles snapchatting back and forth with Erica, jotting random notes down on a piece of paper, and playing on the internet. Around one, Isaac finally emerges from the back, sitting on the counter where Erica normally perches.

Stiles smiles over at him. “Feeling better?”

Isaac nods, twisting and pointing up at the photo wall which has a few new additions. “One of the things I was working on this morning in between customers and reading.”

Stiles looks up and notices the new photos: Cora looking at Boyd as Boyd says something to the camera, a look of amused adoration on her normally grumpy face; Isaac with Erica in a fireman carry, running from a very large pile of lit fireworks; all of their faces smooshed into one picture, tongues out or mouth open, with Laura in the middle making a gloriously revolting face; all of them, except for Laura, in a line in front of water in warm weather, leaning on some railing that looks like a pier, though he doesn’t recognize the person on the end with short black hair and broad shoulders.

He forgets about the guy when he sees another picture of him and Erica from high school. “Oh my god,” he breathes, leaning over and looking at the photo intently.

If he’s not mistaken, they’re waiting for the bus, so probably sophomore year. He’s got his buzz cut and she’s got dark circles under her eyes and all her hair is shoved up under a beanie and they’re grinning like fools. There’s a peace sign being thrown up in the corner by the photographer and Stiles recognizes Scott’s skeleton bone glove.

Stiles takes out his phone and snaps a picture, glancing at it to make sure it's clear enough to send to Scott. “This is so great,” he states, looking at Isaac who seems pleased by his reaction.

“Thanks. We’re trying to expand the pictures. Laura said she wants people to see how happy we are.” He huffs a laugh that sounds like he doesn’t particularly agree and slides back off the counter. “I’m going on break. Be back in ten.”

As he walks out, Laura comes from the back stairs. She gives Stiles a bright smile. “Hello there.”

“Hey,” he chirps as he gets ready to start a new pot of dark roast.

“I see Isaac’s dour mood isn’t contagious. That’s good to know,” she comments as she rounds the counter and starts making a drink for herself.

He laughs and shrugs. “He’s been a little weird today, I guess. Is he sick or something?”

She rolls her eyes and smiles. “No, not at all, he’s just in a funk.” She turns and says, “Oh, I wanted to ask you, do you have any plans for Friday? I know it’s short notice.”

He looks up from grinding the beans, thinking about his schedule. “Uh, no, I’m free. Why do you ask?”

“We’re having a barbeque. Wanted to know if you wanted to come and join us?”

He thinks about it for a moment, glancing around the shop. “Who’s gonna be working?”

“No one. We’re only gonna have the shop open during the morning then close up around two.”

“That sounds nice, just getting to close up whenever you want.” It likely wouldn’t work for him, having that sort of power. He’d probably end up never having a morning shift because he’d always sleep in.

She smiles smugly, eyeing the place proudly again, like the first time he spoke to her. “Benefits of owning the place. Opening late on Sundays, closing whenever we want.” She hums happily.

“Mm,” he agrees, contemplating what he’d be doing Friday which, really, would likely be writing or binge watching something on Netflix if he wasn’t working. “Alright, I’m down.”

“Great. It’ll be at the house.” She leans over and scribbles an address on one of the purple sticky notes sitting by the computer screen.

“The house?” he asks. He starts the pot of coffee and leans on the counter, reading the address on the sticky note. “Do you all live together?”

“Yeah,” she nods, “up near the preserve. All the Hale land is still in our name so it just sort of made sense to have a house there.” She purses her lips as she continues making her drink, like she wants to say more but she’s stopping herself.

He’s not quite sure what to say so, after a moment, he goes with, “I’m sure it’s really nice. What time should I get there?”

“Four should be good, I think,” she says with a sheepish smile. “Do you have any preferences on beer or anything?”

He shakes his head. “Nah, I’m pretty easy to please.”

She chuckles at that and nudges him. “Good to hear. I’ll see you then.” She salutes him with her finished drink and starts to walk away, pausing to look at the pictures. She looks at them, then at Stiles, quirking her eyebrow before she continues on her way back upstairs.

Isaac comes back in and Stiles waits for him to settle in at the computer before he pulls up the stool and sits next to him, purposely leaning close while he plays on his phone.

Isaac looks over at him but Stiles doesn’t look up from his phone, affecting nonchalance. After a moment, Isaac snuffles again then settles their shoulders together, clicking around on the computer.

When Erica ambles in and sees the two of them shoulder to shoulder, both looking down at their phones, she coos and takes a picture, crying gleefully, “This is going on the wall!”

Stiles and Isaac share a look, then Isaac rises to his feet. He claps Stiles on the shoulder as he strolls out, catching Erica by the waist and kissing her firmly before he leaves.

“Bye,” she purrs, watching him leave with dark eyes. When the door closes, she turns to Stiles with a leering smile.

“Ugh, rub it in, why don’t you?” he mutters, taking Isaac’s spot on the stool in front of the computer.

“Aw, whassamatter Stiles? Upset you don’t have a boo thang?” she teases, taking his former seat. She scoots so that they’re a lot closer than he and Isaac had been.

Stiles bumps his head on hers gently, used to her clingy, octopus-like ways.

“You know that there isn’t anyone,” he scoffs, scrolling through an art blog that’s been bookmarked by one of the other baristas. “Not many can keep up with my fast and crazy lifestyle,” he drawls, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Debbie Downer much?” She bumps his shoulder with her head then lays her cheek there. “I’m sure we can find you someone.”

He snorts. “I am  _not_  letting you set me up with anybody, Missy.”

“Ugh.” She leans up and eyes him. “I’m a damn good match maker, Stiles. I can rival Cupid himself, okay? He’s just a fat baby and I’m  _me_. Who do you think got Boyd and Cora together?”

“You know they’re probably only still together because they actually like each other as people, right?” Stiles asks.

She slaps his arm. “Shut up. That’s beside the point.” She looks him up and down. “You’re super cute. I know there are plenty of people in town who’d love to get a piece of that.”

“And now that I feel  _completely_  objectified…” He looks back at the computer. “I’m fine, Erica. I don’t  _need_  anyone. I just… want someone. I know the difference.” He shrugs, trying to put her off or change the subject. “I’m fine.”

“Hmm, okay,” she agrees, giving him a knowing look that he pretends he doesn’t see.

Boyd comes in a few hours later, high-fives Stiles as he walks in, and pushes Erica off of “his” stool, taking the seat with a smug grin at the growling girl on the floor.

Stiles waves to them both and hightails it out of there before the bloodbath occurs. He runs into Laura at one of the tables outside. He bends a bit, gesturing at his head.

She laughs and rubs her hand over it, pinching his cheek. “You’re a mess, Stilinski.”

“I’m  _your_  mess, Hale,” he says cheekily, grin wide.

She shakes her head and nudges him toward the door. “Go on, get out of here. I’ll see you Friday.”

He salutes her and ambles to his Jeep. He pulls out his phone and is pleased to see a text from his dad asking if he wants to do breakfast at Stiles’ house tomorrow. He sends back an affirmative and sits for a second after that, tapping the steering wheel and thinking about what errands he needs to get done.

A few hours later, he finally gets back home and staggers inside, white plastic bags filled with junk food, beer, and other random things hanging off his arms. He drops everything in the kitchen and peeks out the window on the back door. Sure enough, Shadow is skulking on the back porch, peering up at him impatiently.

“Hey bud,” Stiles greets as he opens the door. He leaves it propped open to let the little bit of breeze drift through as the sun starts to go down. Shadow stays just past the doorway, a firm presence between Stiles and the outside.

Stiles takes out a beer and puts the rest in the fridge. He turns on a random Pandora station and hums along as he putters around the kitchen. When all the food is put away, read: shoved into random cabinets, he’s left holding the shower curtain that he finally remembered to get. The only thing is that, according to the picture on the outside, it's pale, shimmery pink and covered in stylized cupcakes.

He stares at it for a few moments, debating whether or not he really cares enough to return it, decides he doesn’t, and tears it open. He tosses the wrapping into the trash and starts to go upstairs before he remembers the open door.

He turns back then stops, staring down at Shadow and Cinnamon, who must’ve slipped up while Stiles was busy. He sees another dog, this one butter yellow with a white blaze on its chest, hovering meekly in his doorway, tail and ears down, big-eyed and adorable as all hell.

He puts his hands on his hips, unable to help it as he asks, “What is going on here? Am I putting out some signal to all the dogs in Beacon Hills?”

The yellow dog flinches back and starts to edge toward the stairs.

Cinnamon snorts at Stiles, stretching out her front feet and placing them on top of Stiles’ foot. He looks down at her and sighs. “This is ridiculous.”

He goes to the doorway, squatting down and holding out his hand. “Come here, bud.” He wiggles his fingers and keeps his voice cheerful as he says, “I’m sorry I wasn’t prepared for so many cute little pups to want to spend time with me.”

The dog edges closer, reaching out and butting the end of Stiles’ fingertips with his nose before scooting close enough for Stiles to catch the charm on his collar. The silver heart-shaped charm reads  _Biscuit_  and Stiles is  _beyond_  certain that this dog has the same owner as Sugar and Cinnamon.

“Hey Biscuit,” Stiles croons and the dog’s tail wags, “you gonna come chill with us?” He stands up and gestures for Biscuit to come in and join them. He trots past Stiles, nudging Cinnamon as he passes to drop next to Shadow on the floor with a contented sigh.

“This is my life now,” Stiles mutters, closing and locking the door. “I told you guys,” he points at Shadow and Cinnamon. “Doggie day camp! It’s real. Shadow, be sure the new camper learns how it works here.”

He grabs the shower curtain and heads upstairs, slowly attaching the empty rings to the new curtain. He shakes out the plastic and examines the cutesy cupcakes once more before shaking his head. Well, at least he has a shower curtain now.

He snags a towel and jumps in the shower then gets into comfy clothes. He heads down stairs and snags his laptop before going back to the kitchen and ushering his visitors outside. Biscuit immediately jumps up on the bench and Stiles laughs.

“Nice, isn’t it?” he asks. “Although, some of us wouldn’t know,” he adds, looking at Shadow who ignores him.

Cinnamon waits until he’s seated then jumps up on his other side. Stiles edits his pages for a bit, creating new documents for text that he wants to keep and use later and deleting a useless scene or two.

Eventually, his stomach reminds him that he hasn’t eaten since lunch. He pats Cinnamon and Biscuit on the head before standing and stating, “Alright, I’m starving. I’ll see you guys later.”

He goes inside, not bothering to try and pet Shadow, since the dog made no move to allow him to do so. He whips up some macaroni and cheese and heads upstairs. He puts his laptop on the bed next to him and queues up Bob’s Burgers.

He finishes his food and drifts off shortly after to Louise and Gene screaming about something.

His dreams are strange, the air thick and cloying with fog. Something reaches out and grabs his throat, twisting, choking...

He shoves himself upright, shirt twisted around his torso, skin sticky with sweat. He flops back, gasping as he tries to calm himself down.

He rubs his face and takes deep breaths, eventually calming himself down enough to sit up and stumble down the stairs, toward the kitchen, slapping the light on.

Stiles has wondered multiple times since the dogs started showing up who they belong to. They usually show up after he returns from work, or around early evening, so that might be when their owner or owners let them out. He wonders if said owners had even the slightest idea that their dogs were spending time sprawled across Stiles’ porch or bench.

It bothers him, sometimes, and he wonders if he should try and find the owner and let them know.

But when he flicks aside the curtain and sees Sugar’s pale-furred body on the bench, despite the fact that it’s just before sunrise, that concern goes out the window. He’s relieved as fuck that he doesn’t have to be alone.

He goes outside and mumbles, “Hey, pretty girl.”

Sugar doesn’t shift from her relaxed position but her tail moves the slightest bit.

“Up for some cuddles?”

Stiles sprawls on the bench, and leans his head on Sugar’s side for a moment before he leans up and adjusts so he’s sitting half-upright. He sits in the quiet of dawn, fingers running absently through cream-colored fur until the sun starts crawling across the backyard.

Suddenly, there’s the sound of a car door shutting and Stiles sits up.

Sugar lifts her head, tilting it with curiosity but staying silent.

Stiles smiles, standing up and getting to the front door just as there’s a knock. He peers through the peephole and is embarrassingly glad to see his dad on the other side of the door.

Stiles opens the door, noting how exhausted his dad looks when he says, “Hey Son.”

He knows he probably looks just as bad, so he doesn’t say anything, just stands back to let his dad in the house. “Hey, Dad. Let me guess, you found another body didn’t you?”

John nods, walking in and pausing in the doorway, eyebrow raised at something in the kitchen.

Stiles turns and sees Sugar sitting just inside the door, Shadow suddenly appearing at his customary post on the top of the stairs.  The dogs stare at Stiles’ dad with clear curiosity.

His dad turns and gives him an amused smile. "Something you want to tell me?"

Stiles waves it away, moving around his dad. “Didn’t I mention it? I’m running an illicit Doggy Day Camp. I’m planning on training them to take over the world with cuteness and cuddles, along with macramé and campfire songs.”

John snorts and follows Stiles into the kitchen, sitting at the table as Stiles starts a pot of coffee and pulls bacon and eggs from the fridge. He doesn’t bother shutting the back door, content to let it stay open since the dogs are outside.

“You would,” his dad states after a few moments of silence.

Stiles hums inquisitively as he turns the bacon, careful not to spatter grease on himself.

“Take over the world with a pack of dogs,” John explains, scooting his chair back enough to be able to peer onto the back porch. “Though that black one doesn’t really look like a dog, kid.”

“He’s a hybrid mix or something.” Stiles points the spatula in his hand at his dad. “You’re the one that told me there aren’t any wolves in California. Don’t go back on that now.”

“Hmf.” John gets up and takes a mug off the rack, getting some coffee before the pot is finished, even though he knows it drives Stiles nuts.

Stiles doesn’t comment, instead looking at how haggard his dad looks, the lines more pronounced around his eyes and mouth.

“So are you going to tell me anything or are we still pretending that I can’t help even a little bit?” Stiles asks as he starts the eggs, bacon cooling on a paper towel covered plate.

John sighs and puts his chin in his hand. “I’m not going to drag you into this any more than you already are.” He takes a deep sip of coffee and blinks as Stiles places the bacon and eggs on the table followed by two plates and two forks. “Is this real bacon?”

“Yes,” Stiles says and grabs some orange juice for himself, “because you’re tired enough you probably won’t even remember me feeding it to you.”

“Ha ha you’re a riot,” John says, completely deadpan as he starts eating. “What are you even doing up? I thought for sure I’d have to drag you from your bed.”

Stiles shrugs, fiddling with his fork. “Had a nightmare. Didn’t go back to sleep after.”

John doesn’t say anything else about the matter, just finishes his coffee. “Any plans for the day?” he asks in a totally  _not_  smooth subject change.

“Not really. My brain is fried. I can’t focus on writing. Pretty much planning on watching TV all day since I don’t have to work.”

“Okay. If you want, you can come to dinner tonight. Melissa’s worried about you.”

Stiles smiles. He knows what his dad isn’t saying, that  _he’s_  worried too. “Sounds good. Six?”

John nods and stands, carrying his plate and mug to the sink. “Thanks for the food. I’m going to go home and collapse for a few hours.” He pulls Stiles into a hug and ruffles his hair. “I suggest you try and take a nap before dinner, alright?”

“I’ll do my best,” Stiles assures him, following him to the door. “See you later.”

John nods at the pair of canines watching him walk toward the door. “Goodbye, strange dogs.” John calls back over his shoulder as he walks to his cruiser, “Love you kid.”

“Love you too, Dad.” Stiles calls back then goes back onto the porch.

“I’m gonna see if I can catch some sleep so I’ll see you guys later.”

Sugar comes over and butts her head against his hand then trots off. Not to be outdone, Shadow rubs his whole side against Stiles’ leg, almost knocking him over. It surprises a laugh out of him and he watches the dogs disappear fully into the brush before he shuts and locks the door.

He ends up sleeping through dinner. He has a text from Melissa when he wakes up briefly around midnight to get some water, letting him know that she hopes he’s asleep and that she loves him.

He shoots her a quick  _Sorry I slept like a log_  text with a heart before he downs the whole glass and goes back upstairs to pass out again.

\-----

On Friday, he’s hit with a strange anxiety as he’s turning onto the gravel road that leads up to the Hale property edging the Preserve. He isn’t sure why but the woods crowding in on either side of the road look almost ominous.

When the trees finally break, he takes a deep breath and laughs off the feeling of dread. Instead of dwelling on it, he studies the lovely, sprawling house laid out before him. He sees three cars parked out front and he pulls up next to a delicious black Camaro.

“Damn,” he mutters, eyeing the sleek lines of the car. He heads up the stairs, knocking firmly and sticking his hands in his pockets. He notices the wind chimes hanging from the edges of the porch and smiles at the gentle sound they make as a breeze kicks up.

He hears fast footsteps approaching and turns back to the door, smiling as Erica pulls the door open and throws her arms up, gleefully yelling, “Batman!”

“Catwoman!” he cries back, returning the embrace she pulls him into.

She releases him and kicks the door closed. She jumps on his back and only years of being her friend keeps him from dropping her.

He hoists her higher, startling a laugh out of her. “Where to?” he asks.

She points down the hall and states regally, “Onward, toward the kitchen, my noble steed!”

He shifts her up again, just to make her laugh, before he heads the way she pointed, passing a living room and a bathroom under the stairs.

Stiles can’t help the small gasp of appreciation as he enters the brightly lit kitchen. It’s open and bright, one whole wall above the counters taken up with windows that are open to catch the breeze.

Laura looks up from where she’s chopping vegetables. She, too, throws her arms in the air, though she leaves the knife on the cutting board, thankfully. “Stiles! Glad you could make it.”

“Glad to be here.” He grins and backs up to deposit Erica on the counter.

She releases him, kicking him in the butt and he points a stern finger at her. She smirks, pushing him toward Laura who hugs him one-armed.

“Fridge is there. Feel free to grab a drink.” Laura gestures to a giant silver monstrosity.

“Thanks.” He pulls the door open and is struck by how much food there is. “Jeez, do you guys buy in bulk or something.”

Erica laughs as Laura says, “Or something.”

Stiles grabs a Rolling Rock and closes the door. “So, you need any help?” He leans against the counter and pops the top off the bottle, slipping the cap into his pocket.

“Nah.” She finishes chopping the veggies and puts them on a plate. She looks at Stiles hard for a second, like she’s trying to figure something out. She snaps her fingers, cursing. “I knew I forgot to tell you something. You don’t have swim trunks in your car by any chance, do you?”

Stiles shakes his head. “Didn’t realize I’d be swimming.” He takes a swig of his beer.

“Well damn. Do you want to?”

Stiles shrugs. “It would be nice. You guys have a pool?”

She nods, pointing out the window to where Stiles can see Isaac in a tank top and bright blue fish-patterned swim trunks standing on the edge of the pool, skimming the water with a long poled net, forehead wrinkled in concentration.

Erica pipes up, “I’m sure Derek has some trunks that Stiles can borrow. You know his always have the ties on them.”

Stiles turns at her sly tone and narrows his eyes. “Uh, who’s Derek?” he asks and both girls look at him strangely.

Then Laura smiles gently. “He’s my brother. Younger than me, older than Cora.”

Stiles feels like an idiot, because  _of course_  he knew that Laura and Cora had a brother that also survived the fire. “Right.”

“Come on, I think Erica’s right.” She gestures for him to follow her and stops at the bottom of the stairs, pointing to a picture. “That’s Derek.”

Stiles looks at the picture of the three of them and  _ohhh okay_ things are making more sense. It’s the dark haired guy from the picture at the shop.

Stiles tries not to stare because Derek, well, he’s  _gorgeous_ ; his eyes pale where Laura and Cora’s are dark, his hair black while theirs is dark brown.

“He looks like our mom,” Laura offers, leaning against the banister. “Cora and I took after Dad’s side.”

Stiles smiles at her. “I look like my mom too.” He waves his fingers in his face. “She made the doe-eyed thing look good, sweet, y’know, and pretty. I’m lucky I’m smart and quirky otherwise I’d never get lucky.”

Laura laughs. “I think the Bambi look works for you.”

He snorts, rolling his eyes. “Thanks Laura.”

She winks and keeps going up the stairs. “I’ll be right back.”

He nods and keeps looking at the pictures. There’s a lot more hanging on the walls here than there are at the shop but a particularly large one catches his eye.

He sees one of Isaac holding Erica on his shoulders standing chest deep in the pool next to Boyd who has Cora on his shoulders. Laura is on a lounge chair in the background with a flag in one hand and a ridiculous tropical drink, complete with an umbrella, in the other.

“Ah, yes, the Annual Chicken Battle,” Laura says as she reappears and hands Stiles a pair of red shorts. “It’s a very serious event here.”

He laughs. “Hopefully I’ll be able to see it this year.”

She smiles and ruffles his hair. “Hopefully.” She heads back into the kitchen and he ducks into the small bathroom to change.

“So,” he asks as he ambles back into the kitchen. Laura nods for him to continue. “Why doesn’t Derek work at the shop? I mean, you and Cora do, everyone else does.”

She smiles, fondly if a bit exasperated. “He’s not really a people person.” She pulls out a bowl of dip from the fridge. “He paints all the art we have up, you know. We count that as his contribution.”

Stiles blinks. “Oh shit. That’s cool. He’s hella talented.” He holds up his cargo shorts. “Any place in particular that I can put this stuff?”

She picks up the plate of veggies and dip and jerks her head. “Follow me.”

As they walk toward the back of the house, they pass through a small room filled with cubbies, shoes littering the floor in front of them.

“Pick a cubby and claim it as your own.” She says it like a royal decree and Stiles can’t help but smile.

“Yes, your majesty.” She sticks her tongue out at him. He laughs and picks the very far left top cubby. “This belong to anyone?”

“To you, now.” She points to a stack of folded multicolored towels. “Grab two of those, would you?”

He does and follows her through the doors. He hears various calls of his name and he waves at everyone.

He spends the next couple of hours eating, swimming, and laughing. The sun and the salt-water pool make his skin tight and he feels so  _good_  for the first time in weeks.

He’s sitting on the edge of the pool, feet in the water as he chats with Erica and Isaac. Cora says something that makes Isaac shove her in the pool and Stiles laughs along with everyone else.

“Those,” someone suddenly says behind him, “are mine.”

Stiles turns around and his laughter dies in his throat.

Laura and Cora’s brother Derek is standing a foot away, fully dressed and staring at the swim trunks that Stiles is wearing.

“Oh, uh, I’m sorry.” Stiles plucks at the fabric. “I can, uh, give them back? I forgot mine at home.”

Derek doesn’t say anything else, just stares at Stiles with a strange look on his face.

Laura, bless her, finally says, “Chill, Derek. I let him borrow them.”

Derek’s face, twisted with what Stiles might call curiosity the longer he looks at it, shifts into a scowl. He turns and snaps grumpily at his sister, “Don’t go in my room.”

With that utterly mature statement, he looks at Stiles once more, eyes flickering over his body, before he turns on his heel and goes back inside.

“Well,” Cora says into the silence, leaning against the side of the pool and pushing her wet hair from her face, “now you’ve officially met Derek.”

Erica snorts into her mixed drink and Isaac nudges her side.

“What’s so funny?” Stiles asks.

“Hah,” Erica coughs, shaking her head, “nothing, nothing. It’s just always so interesting to see how positively  _sunny_  he is with new people.”

Stiles raises his eyebrow at her and it makes her, Isaac, and Cora laugh.

“Shh, you guys,” Laura chides. She turns to Stiles. “Like I said before, he’s not as social as we are. I didn’t realize he was going to be home. He likes a little bit of warning, that’s all.”

Stiles hums, mulling that over. “Well, tell him I’m sorry again about his swim trunks.”

Boyd rolls his eyes and mutters, “It’s not like he really cares.”

Stiles blinks, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Ahem,” Erica interjects, sending Boyd a deep look, “what he means is that sometimes, Derek just needs something to complain about to involve himself in a conversation.” She smiles at Stiles. “He’s heard us talk about you a lot.”

“He’s terribly shy,” Isaac adds with a sage nod.

Stiles looks at all of them and sighs. “You guys are all so full of shit sometimes, I can’t tell when you’re messing with me.”

“That’s how this works, Stilinski,” Cora tells him, slapping his knee. “Now, how about we show you how  _we_  play Marco Polo?”

The rest of the group murmurs a low  _oooohh_  and Cora waves them all down, waiting for an answer.

“Is there a way to play that I’m not aware of?” Stiles asks with a laugh. They all shrug or make vague sounds so Stiles rolls his eyes and drops down into the water. “Alright, I’m game.”

“I’ll get the camera,” Erica declares loudly and jumps up, running into the house gleefully.

Stiles watches her go then turns back to Cora, wondering, yet again, what his big mouth has gotten him into as a dangerous smile curves over Cora’s mouth.

**\-----**

Stiles leaves for home around ten after getting hugs and his hair ruffled and a gentle shoulder-punch from Boyd. When he gets to the house, he juggles the containers of leftover steak, potatoes, corn, and squash on the way up to the door.

After shoving the leftovers into his fridge, he takes a shower to get the crunchy-salt feeling off his skin and passes out, sleeping blissfully through the night.

Waking up the next morning, he feels rested for the first time in a while. He stretches languorously, groaning and yelling and wriggling, before eventually rolling to his feet.

The muscles in his back are a little tight from the full-contact Marco Polo he’d played yesterday, but otherwise, he feels amazing.

He’s been tagged in his first Instagram photo as well and it makes him grin. Cora’s cocky smirk can’t even dampen his amusement at his sodden appearance in the photo, looking half-drowned but happy with his arms around Erica while Isaac and Laura put bunny ears on them. Boyd has perfectly captured the feeling of the evening and Stiles screenshots the photo to save it to his phone.

He has his favorite kind of breakfast: a hodge-podge mix of bread and cheese and whatever fruit or jams he has in the fridge. After making himself a stupidly-large cup of coffee, he goes outside and settles onto the bench and writes for a while.

After a bit, he saves his work and closes his laptop, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. There’s a stubborn plot point that he knows has a simple solution but it’s evading him.

Taking a deep breath, he looks around and figures, for such a nice day, a light run could do just the trick. He takes his stuff inside, changes into gym shorts, and guzzles a glass of water before heading to the back yard.

He bites his lip as he stands in front of the path opening, debating whether or not a run in the woods is a good idea. He takes a deep breath and figures anything that’s been out there at night would probably not mess with him in the bright light of noon so he makes his way in.

Stiles starts through the woods at an easy pace. A noise from the brush beside him has his heart hammering before he recognizes Shadow’s lithe form. The dog’s body language is relaxed, nose up and scenting things on the air, so Stiles tells himself to calm down.

After a moment, he presses into a faster stride, starting to run, and the dog matches his speed. He grins and doesn’t look but he thinks that Shadow’s enjoying the faster pace too.

He puts on a burst of speed as he hits the straight away at the end of the trail and Shadow matches him again, his fluffy form shifting into a sleek, powerful blur darting through the underbrush and over roots and fallen trees.

Stiles is so busy watching Shadow, he doesn’t stop at the mushroom cluster and rounds the corner where he hasn’t been before. His foot slides in a patch of scree right after the turn and he cries out as he hits the ground hard and slides a few feet before rolling.

He ends up on his back and stays that way, breathing heavily and clenching his hands to keep from yelling. A breeze picks up and he hisses, the wind on his scraped skin making him feel like his nerve endings are exposed.

“Oh god oh fuck ow ow owwww…” he whines, sucking in a breath and holding it against the pain.

Shadow bursts out of the trees and runs up to him, whining deep in his throat and dancing around anxiously, sniffing at Stiles’ hair and licking his temple.

“I know, bud, I know. I’m a dumb, clumsy fuck. No one to blame but myself,” Stiles grits out, latching onto Shadow’s shoulder and pushing himself up to sitting against the sturdy dog.

Shadow whines again and nudges the side of Stiles’ neck, licking away some of the dirt there.

Stiles gently pushes his head away. “I know you’re just trying to help, but that really hurts.” He runs his hand over Shadow’s head to soothe him. “Thanks though, buddy.”

It takes about ten minutes, but he finally manages to get to his feet, gasping the entire time. When he’s finally upright, he gets a head rush that almost knocks him back on his ass. He stumbles and drops back down to one knee when his right ankle buckles under his weight.

“Dammit,” he spits, arms shaking as he puts his hand on Shadow’s shoulder and pushes himself to his feet again, prepared this time to hobble a bit.

“You are getting  _all_  the chicken when we get home,” Stiles promises the dog, turning back towards the house. “Or steak, I’ve got some leftover in the fridge. You can have that. Do you like potatoes and corn? Because you can have those too. But the squash is mine, dude, so don’t even ask. I don’t care how cute you look, not happening, got it?”

He keeps up the idle talk as he makes his way back to the house. By the time he gets there, he’s dripping sweat and shaking because he hurts  _everywhere_.

He pretty much collapses on the bench, leaning on his uninjured parts and panting. He looks at the door and wonders if he’s got the energy to actually make it inside.

Shadow whines low in his throat, shifting back and forth and looking at the trees. He doesn’t seem on-guard, more anxious. He dances in place for a second before darting forward to nudge his head against Stiles’ uninjured knee before running off back into the woods.

“Shadow!” Stiles calls after the dog but he’s gone.

Stiles has to fight off the urge to actually start crying because he’s ridiculous but it almost feels like he’s been abandoned. He sighs, tapping his fingers against the bench and promising himself he’ll get up and go inside in a few minutes.

\-----

_Derek curses his penchant for avoiding his human skin, berating himself._

_Stiles is hurt and he can’t do a fucking thing because he’s a goddamn_ ‘ _wolf right now and Stiles still doesn’t know about the pack or him or anything._

_Derek lets out a whine, pushing himself to move faster._

_He tumbles into the small clearing that is the “backyard” of his painting cabin and pounds up the steps, pushing down on the lever knob and letting himself inside before he wills himself to shift._

_When he’s got hands and thumbs, he grabs his phone from the counter, pulling the charger out of the wall as he unlocks it and holds down the #6 speed dial. He waits, breaths squeezing hard in and out of his lungs._

_When the phone line clicks, Erica’s voice is hesitant, clearly unsure as to why he’s calling her._ “Derek? Hey. What’s up?”

_He hears the sounds of people and the coffee grinder and knows she’s at the shop, but it has to be her. He takes a breath, trying to ignore the tingling feeling that flares through his legs as the muscles cramp and he straightens them with a kick. “Stiles is hurt,” he tells her._

_Her voice immediately changes, becoming serious as she demands,_ “Where?”

_“His house.”_

_She doesn’t tease him or ask him how he knows that, just hangs up on him._

\-----

Stiles is psyching himself up to try standing up when he hears a car door shut in the driveway.

He waits, listening hard and lets out a relieved sigh that might sound like a sob when he hears, “ _Baaatttmaaannnn_ , it’s Catwoman!”

He drops his head back and takes a deep breath, calling out, “Jiminy Cricket!”

Erica tears around the side of the house so fast she almost falls. She makes a face upon seeing him sprawled across the bench and almost leaps up the steps. “What the fuck happened?”

“I’m an idiot,” he tells her, smiling when she rolls her eyes in exasperation.

“Well  _that_  I knew,” she snaps, holding out her hands to him. “Also, I cannot believe you remember  _The Code_.”

“Why wouldn’t I? I’m the one that made it up,” he quips, but he’s braced for the pain as he puts his hands in hers and gets to his feet. “I told you it would come in handy. Making it up wasn’t a total waste of time, like you said.”

“No, what’s handy is that I was bored at work and decided to come by uninvited,” she informs him, her mouth turned down, running her eyes over him. “All those Codes are a waste of time.”

“Aw, babes, don’t be upset,” Stiles tuts, feeling a little light-headed. “I’m gonna be fine. After all, I didn’t even use the  _Whole Code_.”

She scowls at him, reminding him in a deceptively calm voice, “That’s because the  _Whole Code_  is reserved for Life and Death.”

“If it helps, I feel like I’m dying,” he laughs weakly as they shuffle to the door.

Erica twists the knob and shoots him an unimpressed look as the door swings open.

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighs, already prepared for her lecture.

As she helps him inside, she scolds, “You are the son of the  _Sheriff_  and a reasonably well-known author  _and_  your neighbor was  _cut_   _into_   _multiple_   _pieces_. You should  _not_  being leaving your door unlocked, Stiles!”

Uh oh, real name time – well, real enough. “I know, I know. I just hate running with my keys,” he huffs. “I’m really glad I didn’t have them today. Can you imagine the beautiful puncture marks I would have right now?”

She grumbles, “I’d like not to imagine my best friend with puncture marks, thanks, so shut up.” She leans him against the counter before moving to the sink and getting him a glass of water. She presses it into his hands and watches as he drinks the entire thing. 

“So, are you going to the hospital or are we gonna make this a home-remedy situation?” she asks with no judgement in her tone, just curiosity.

“I’m  _not_  going to the damn hospital,” he grumbles, ignoring her eyes lingering on his ankle.

“Alright,” she says, knowing how he feels about hospitals. “Then let’s get you into the shower.”

He bats his eyes at her. “I knew this day would come.”

She snorts, putting his arm over her shoulder and helping him up the stairs. “Shall I remind you, this isn’t the first time I’ve put you in the shower?”

He groans, remembering, as she laughs. “Oh god, I’m sorry. Please  _please_  don’t mention that party  _ever_  again.”

“I think your love sonnet to Lydia was inspired, personally. The puking on her shoes afterward, not so much.” She lets him go as he settles on the closed toilet lid and stops, turning back to him with a lifted eyebrow. “What the hell is that?” She points to his new shower curtain.

“It's a cupcake shower curtain, Erica. What does it look like?” He rolls his eyes at her amusement-pursed lips. “Can you just help me instead of worrying about it?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry.” She starts the shower, pulling the fixture to spray the wall. She moves to stand in front of him. “Arms up if you can manage it.”

He manages, barely, with a wince. “Ow ow ow.”

“I know, I know,” she murmurs, gently extracting him from his clothes.

When he’s fully nude, she doesn’t even tease him or make disparaging comments about his physique like she did when she’d had to put his incredibly drunk ass in the shower to sober up. She just hisses through her teeth and tosses his clothes in the hamper.

“Goddamn, you’re a mess,” she declares, eyes tight as she takes in his injuries.

He looks in the mirror and understands her reaction. His skin is covered in scratches and slowly darkening bruises. He looks  _raw_. His right side is scraped, from his calf to his waist, with small strips where his clothes managed to cover him. Both his upper arms are scraped and his palms are red and bloody.

He’s even got a lovely scrape on his neck and a little spot on his chin. He’s covered in a mix of sweat, blood, and dirt. He glances down and sees that his ankle is starting to swell. He lets out a sigh and presses his knuckles to his forehead, cursing himself silently for being so easily distracted.

“Looking hot, otherwise,” Erica informs him from next to the shower, hand under the water.

He snorts. “You aren't an impartial judge of that.” He stares at the water and takes a deep breath. “This is gonna suck.” He steps into the shower and watches as she unhooks the hose and fiddles with the temperature.

She takes a deep breath too and nods. “It certainly is.”

Stiles knows Erica won’t ever tell anyone, so he lets himself curse and whimper and holler. It doesn’t really make it any better. It still hurts like fuck. Like someone is rubbing sandpaper over his skin and following it up by pouring acid over it.

They finally manage to get the dirt and most, if not all, of the gravel out of his skin. He has a terrifying moment of imagining his skin healing over embedded gravel but Erica just ignores his hysterics and continues to gently pat him dry.

She slathers him with antibiotic ointment from under the bathroom sink, using the entire family-sized tube and wraps his ankle tightly with an ace bandage. She puts down clean sheets on the couch, wraps him in another clean sheet, and has him lay down.

“You are a goddess,” he breathes as he settles himself. He’s out as soon as he hits the cool fabric, hearing Erica laugh softly, her hand gently brushing his hair back from his forehead as he slips under.

\-----

_Derek rests long enough that his skin stops crawling and his muscles aren’t clenching whenever he moves. He shoves two muffins in his mouth, drinks three bottles of water, then shifts back. He rolls his body, feeling the fur settle as he starts back to Stiles’ house, pace only marginally slower than when he ran the path before._

_He trots up to the porch and scratches at the door, listening for footsteps and huffing when the curtain twitches to the side before the door opens. He looks up into Erica’s frowning face._

_“It’s ugly,” she says as she stands back, gesturing him in, “but it looks worse than it really is.” She shuts the door behind him and locks it as he walks into the living room. “You could have been more specific, you asshole. Between the two of you, I thought he was actually dying.”_

_Derek snorts then sits at the side of the couch, rooting his nose up to touch a patch of uninjured skin on the back of Stiles’ hand. The man’s fingers twitch, catching in his fur by his shoulder and Stiles’ eyes flicker open._

_“Hey bud,” he mumbles when he sees Derek. He blinks twice more before his eyes fall all the way closed and he sighs out a breath, asleep again._

_“You’re an idiot, you know.”_

_Derek keeps his shoulder close enough for Stiles to touch and turns his head to look at the blonde girl, shooting her an irritated look._

_She sighs, rubbing her forehead and leans in the doorway to the kitchen, crossing her arms. “Look, all teasing aside, you clearly care about him.” She points at his current position. “You’re here all the time and you practically purr when you think about him.”_

_He huffs and flicks his tail at her, a clear “not now” gesture._

_She holds her hands up. “Fine.” She pushes away from the door frame and pauses on her way upstairs, her usual teasing back in her tone as she calls softly over her shoulder, “But you know he’d probably still like your other face even after your stellar behavior at the barbeque.”_

_Derek rolls his eyes and rests his head on the couch, taking a deep breath and smelling pain and blood and medicine. He inhales again and gets to the_ papergrasselectronics _\- combined now with_ coffeepastriespack _\- that makes up Stiles’ scent. It soothes something inside him to smell it._

_He knows she’s right. And he_  has _already decided he’s going to do something, he just doesn’t really know_  what _yet._

_He sighs heavily as he thinks about it and Stiles’ fingers move automatically, smoothing through his fur, murmuring, “S’gonna be okay.”_

_Derek looks at him and really hopes it will be._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think. :)
> 
> Please remember: I am not done revising the later chapters of the story. I currently work two jobs and have a very busy personal life so I am not sure when I will finish, only that I will finish it eventually.
> 
> Also: I've left the old chapters "up" still since I don't want to lose the comments, but they are empty of content for the time being.
> 
> Next chapter will be up soon.
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day.
> 
> I love ya, sweet babbies, I love love love ya!  
> kisskiss  
> ♡♡♡ Scotch


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya, babbies! Hope all is well with you!
> 
> Things are about to get a little hectic with my job(s) and stuff, so I thought I'd post another chapter to tide you over for a couple weeks. 
> 
> Please excuse any mistakes. I hope you like it!

Stiles blinks awake and, for five blissful seconds, he feels pretty good.

Then he moves and his whole body throbs once before settling into a dull ache with sharp spikes of pain in certain places where he knows the scrapes and bruises are probably the worst.

“Guh,” he breathes, trying not to move too much.

He rolls just a little, sees Erica asleep sitting up in the chair in the corner, head on her hand. He smiles at her then blinks at the black form sleeping on the floor next to the couch.

He reaches out as much as he can and runs his fingers gently over the dome of Shadow’s head. Now, probably used to Stiles’ incessant attempts to pet him, Shadow doesn’t jump, only flicks his ear and looks up at Stiles.

“Hey there,” Stiles mumbles and Shadow turns his head a little, giving him a sad-eyed look before snorting at him. “Thanks bud. Glad to see you too,” Stiles says with a chuckle.

Erica jerks awake at the sound and looks around before staring at Stiles with blank brown eyes.

Stiles waits until he sees her brain kick online, smiling at her. “Morning,” he greets.

“Yeah,” she grunts and scrubs at her face before pushing to her feet.

Stiles knows she’s going for the coffee pot and accepts her help when she comes back and puts pillows behind him before handing him a cup made just the way he likes.

She squats down and takes a look at his ankle. “Well, in my very expert medical opinion,” she declares, ignoring Stiles as he snorts into his coffee, “your ankle doesn’t seem to be broken, just sprained and totally gross looking.”

“Thank you, Doctor Reyes,” he drawls, wiggling his toes when she motions at him.

“You’re lucky. If it was Cora that found you, she’d have cut it off,” she says with a toothy smile. She grabs an ice pack and two throw pillows to use as props.

They spend the day watching Buffy on his laptop and eating all his junk food. Stiles keeps getting texts asking how he is from the coffee shop group and ends up getting barked at by his dad when he picks up his call.

Erica shoots him a sympathetic glance after a subtle nudge that he should move back in and Stiles is quick to nip  _that_  right in the bud. He sees that the group chat has been updated, too.

**_From Dad:_ **

**_FYI Stiles fell while running and got hurt_ **

**_He is fine just his usual clumsy self_ **

Stiles glares at his phone and sends a middle finger emoji that his dad then scolds him for but he’s sure that Scott, at least, will find it amusing.

The rest of the day is spent napping and enjoying how into the show Erica is. Shadow is there until around three then Erica lets him out, murmuring to him before she shuts the door.

Around eleven, just as he’s about to drop off again, Erica bends down and kisses his forehead. “I gotta go, okay?”

He nods and tries to focus his tired mind on her words.

“If you need something, call me. If I can’t get it for you, call someone else from the shop.” Her tone is firm, voice gentle.

“Mmkay. Love you,” he mumbles.

“Love you too,” he hears before he slips off again.

\-----

Monday starts pretty much the same as the day before except he doesn’t feel good at all when he wakes up.

He’s itchy as all hell when he makes himself move and bitches under his breath the entire trip up the stairs to the bathroom. He grimaces when he gets a look at himself after delicately washing his hands.

“Hideous,” he tells his reflection.

Putting on gym shorts is an exercise in frustration but he finally manages and then limps down the stairs. He’s pissed as all hell when he sits back on the couch. He scrolls through Instagram, answers a few texts, and is starting to wonder if getting up off the couch is worth it when someone knocks on the door.

He’s curious for a split second before he’s irritated. If it’s his dad, he reasons as he pushes himself to his feet – er, foot – then he’ll be frustrated because his dad doesn’t trust him, but also, his dad might make him some French toast…

If it’s not his dad, then what the hell is someone doing at his house? How dare they bother him?

He drags the sheet over his shoulders like a cape and hobbles to the door like the saltiest superhero. He jerks the door open and immediately regrets his decision because he’s sure he looks like a cow with his jaw hanging open, blinking dumbly.

Derek Hale is standing on his porch.

Derek Hale is standing on his porch _and_ holding a canvas grocery bag that looks like it’s going to split at the seams.

Derek blinks at him too, looking slightly startled. “Uh,” he grunts, eyes flicking down.

Stiles closes his mouth and looks down too, aghast to notice that the sheet isn’t covering all of his gross road-rash. He yanks the sheet back into place and manages to say, “Derek.”

“Yeah, I,” Derek nods then clears his throat, lifting the bulging bag. “I brought food… for you.” He shifts, looking over Stiles’ shoulder like he’s uncomfortable. “Everyone’s working on something at the shop, so Laura sent me over to check on you.”

Stiles narrows his eyes at the other man, trying not to sound like a jerk when he mumbles, “Er, okay.”

“May I come in?” Derek asks politely after a moment.

Stiles opens the door further and steps out of the way, jerking his head toward the kitchen.

Derek moves past easily, shoulders rolling a little as he walks through the door.

Stiles _absolutely does not_  watch the way Derek walks, the smooth sway of his hips and the way his t-shirt clings across his shoulders.

_Good lord._

He frowns at himself, huffing a low breath as he closes and locks the door before grabbing his phone from the coffee table. He makes his way to the kitchen doorway and leans there, shooting off a quick text to Laura.

_To Bosslady:_

_Is there a reason that your brother is at my house with enough groceries for a feast?_

In typical fashion for the lot of his co-workers, her reply is almost immediate.

**_From Bosslady:_ **

**_Because he wasn’t doing anything useful today and Erica told us about the sad state of your fridge._ **

_Traitor_ , he thinks about the blonde. He flicks his gaze up and watches Derek continue to unpack his bag, studying the line of his back. _However…_

Derek straightens up from putting containers in the fridge. He turns and sees Stiles in the doorway and, if he thinks Stiles is creepy for just staring at him, he doesn’t comment, just asks, “Anything else you need?”

“Uh,” he shakes his head, “nah, I think I’m good. Just tired, really.”

Derek nods. “Are you hungry?”

Stiles stares at him for a long moment, utterly confused, before he shakes his head slowly.

Derek nods and gives a small smile. “I’ll head out then.” He moves past Stiles and towards the front door.

Stiles hobbles after him, drifting in his wake.

“Be sure you call or let someone know if you need something,” Derek tells him before opening the door and slipping out, closing it softly behind him.

Stiles stands in the entryway, clutching the edges of his bedsheet cape, and finally asks, “What the fuck just happened?”

Since there’s no one there to answer him, he turns and goes back into the kitchen. Pulling open the fridge, he’s met with shelves full of containers, like the green ones from the barbeque. Six different colored sets cluster there and he picks up the purple ones, pulling them open one by one and finding a salad, half a sandwich, some kind of soup, and cookies.

He lied, he’s _very_ hungry.

He heats up the soup then settles on the couch and devours the food while he writes until he’s so full and muzzy that he passes out.

\-----

On Tuesday, he’s grumbling his way through editing when there’s a knock at the door.

He sighs, putting on his sheet cape again – since he didn’t bother with a shirt after his painful as fuck shower that morning – and makes his way to the door.

Derek is once again standing on his porch, though this time, he’s not holding a grocery bag. He does have a couple of books under his arm, though, and Stiles eyes them curiously as he silently steps back to allow Derek into his house.

“These are from Laura,” Derek tells him, placing the books on the coffee table. “She’s really into the series, or something, and she wanted me to bring them by.”

Stiles nods and shuffles awkwardly in place when Derek stands up and runs his eyes over him.

“Hungry?”

With all his good manners, Stiles is about to lie again when his stomach gurgles. “Er…”

Derek’s lips quirk in a quick smile and he walks into the kitchen. “Would you like breakfast or lunch?”

Stiles clears his throat and says matter-of-factly, “This is kind of weird.”

Derek raises an eyebrow in clear confusion. “How so?”

“Seriously?” Stiles has to resist the urge to flail, but he flaps his hand in Derek’s direction. “We’ve only met, like, _twice_ , and you were weirdly territorial of your swim trunks. Now you’re in my kitchen again and trying to cook me food.”

“I don’t have to cook if you don’t want me to,” Derek tells him in a light tone but Stiles sees the stiffness in his shoulders and remembers what Laura said about Derek being awkward in social situations. “I just thought I’d offer since your stomach decided to shout at me. And, uh, I’m sorry about the swim trunks thing. It was… rude.”

Stiles isn’t always a ray of sunshine himself and he’s territorial of his stuff too, so he kind of gets it. Plus, Derek did apologize.

He blows out an exasperated breath. “ _Fine_.”

It’s part-laugh when Derek echoes, “Fine?”

He nods. “You may make me _one_ omelet.” His voice is haughty as he continues, “With cheese and mushrooms.”

Derek looks like he’s fighting off a smile. “Alright. Anything else?”

Stiles stares at him and tests his luck, adding, “Bacon.”

“I can only make it chewy, not crispy,” Derek tells him like it’s a secret. “Juice or milk?”

“Neither.” Stiles shakes his head. “Coffee.”

Seemingly undeterred by his “bratty” behavior, Derek starts washing his hands and asks, “Cream and sugar?”

“Yes…” Stiles draws out as he starts to back away slowly, “please.”

“Coming right up.”

Stiles stands in the hallway for a moment before heading upstairs to try and put a shirt on so he’s not standing in a damn sheet anymore. When he gets upstairs, he texts Laura and Erica.

_To Bosslady:_

_A little heads up that Derek was coming to my house again would have been nice???_

_**-** _

_To Catwoman:_

_Derek’s at my house again and being nice and it’s freaking me out._

He struggles into a flannel button up and stares at his phone as it pings several times with incoming messages.

_**From Bosslady:** _

_**Oh, shit. Sorry.** _

_**We’re all so obsessed with each other that we have no boundaries. I forget sometimes that other people aren’t like that. You can tell him to leave if he’s bothering you.** _

 -

_**From Catwoman:** _

_**Derek’s at your house? Being nice? Hahahahaha.** _

_**What’s the matter, Snookums? You like what you see when he’s not grumpy?** _

_**BTW he’s single.** _

_**Just throwing that out there… WINK WINK WINK** _

He heaves a deep sigh, wondering, not for the first time, why he’s friends with Erica.

_To Catwoman:_

_I hate you._

_**From Catwoman:** _

_**I love you too!! ^3^** _

_He thinks about what he wants to say to Laura, trying not to sound rude while he types. He appreciates that they’re thinking of him, trying to help, but it’s weird. And it’s not like he’s a_ _total_ _invalid._

_To Bosslady:_

_It’s fine. Give me a heads up next time. Cool?_

_**From Bosslady:** _

_**Heard. :)** _

When he gets back downstairs, he peers suspiciously into his kitchen and sees that his small table has been set for one with a full plate of what appears to be exactly what he asked for. He sits in the chair and watches through narrowed eyes as Derek turns and puts a coffee mug down next to his plate.

“Enjoy,” Derek says with a teasing curl to his mouth.

Stiles snorts and cuts into the omelet, prepared to tell Derek exactly what he thinks about it until he tastes it. Then his eyes kind of roll up a little bit and he has to keep himself from moaning because it’s fucking _good_.

Stiles takes a few more bites then samples the bacon, turning to ask Derek what his secret is when he freezes. “Are you… are you sweeping my floor?” he asks through a mouthful of bacon, which is _delicious_ , dammit.

“Have you swept since you’ve lived here?” Derek shoots back.

“Hey,” he points his fork, “I’m a very busy author and sweeping is not high on my priority list most days.”

Plus, maybe, he didn’t even realize there _was_ a broom in the laundry room.

“Doesn’t seem like it’s on any list ever,” Derek mumbles as he sweeps the dirt pile into the dustpan and dumps it into the trashcan.

Instead of giving a response, Stiles scowls and shoves another piece of perfect, perfect bacon into his mouth.

Derek smirks and starts washing Stiles’ dishes.

Stiles fumes in silence and eats the rest of his breakfast, trying to keep from basking in the feeling of a very attractive guy in his kitchen being all domestic and shit. He sips his coffee after Derek takes his empty plate and washes that too.

“Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?” Derek asks when he’s done, drying his hands on the dish towel.

Oh man… there are  _so many_   _things_  flying through Stiles’ head but he takes a breath and sternly tells himself to cut it out. He shakes his head, voice a little rough as he says, “Nope.”

Derek nods and heads toward the door. Stiles gets up and follows him, stepping back when Derek turns around, digging in his pocket.

“I’m not sure if you’ll ever need it but,” he pulls a purple sticky note from his pocket, one Stiles recognizes from the coffee shop, and holds it out, “this is my number, just in case you can’t reach anybody else.”

 Stiles takes the paper from him. “Yeah, uh, cool. Thanks.”

Derek nods again, rocking back on his heels. “Cool,” he echoes then coughs softly, scratching his jaw and looking over Stiles’ shoulder. “I’ll just be heading out then.”

Stiles nods too, feeling like an idiot. He holds the door and says, “Thanks. For breakfast. And, um, the sweeping.”

“No problem,” Derek tells him with a smile that makes Stiles feel fluttery then walks toward the Camaro that Stiles parked next to when he was at the house for the barbeque.

Stiles lifts his hand in a wave and, frustrated, mutters, “Of course he drives the goddamn sports car.”

Derek drives off and Stiles shuts the door, leaning against it for a moment before he knocks a fist gently against his forehead, cursing, because Derek is hot like burning and, oh, man, probably not the best analogy but, like, fucking a…

Stiles shakes his head and pushes off the door, hobbling toward the living room and the blessed couch where he spends the rest of his day writing and playing around on the internet.

He tries to ignore the purple post it stuck to the coffee table but he squints at it every once in a while as if it can answer the questions he’s got floating around in his head.

\-----

Stiles wakes up on Wednesday in a positively foul mood. He accidentally deleted half his pages he worked all day yesterday on and almost broke his left foot when he was trying to reheat pasta in the dark.

Slightly hopeful for something to distract him, he looks for the dogs through the kitchen window.

Nothing.

Alright, he knows that the dogs that have been visiting have owners. He gets it. But the dogs haven’t showed up since the night before the barbeque at the Hale house and he misses them.

Plus, he’s mind-numbingly bored and lonely and only has human interaction from Snapping Erica and when Derek shows up and the other man only stays for maybe an hour, tops.

He grumps his way away from the kitchen window and mopes on the couch until there’s a knock on the door around two.  He glares at the door and has an inkling that he knows who’s standing on the other side.

“You again?” Stiles barks as he yanks open the door.

Seemingly not put off by his rudeness, Derek says, “Me again. Figured you’d starve if I wasn’t here to cook.”

Stiles glares at him but moves back so that Derek can come inside.

Derek gives him a shit-eating grin as he goes by and Stiles realizes that Derek smells really good.

“Stop that,” he mutters to himself, following Derek into the kitchen and sitting in his chair.

“So,” Derek asks, “what’ll it be today?”

Stiles crosses his arms over his chest and asks skeptically, “So you’re just gonna come to my house and cook for me every day?”

Derek raises an eyebrow and mirrors Stiles’ position. “Not every day and I won’t cook unless you want me to and only until you can move without wincing.”

Stiles lifts his chin, stubbornly announcing, “I don’t _need_ your help.”

“I know that.”

“So what,” Stiles asks, “you haven’t got anything better to do so you come over here?”

He expects Derek to snap at him like he did to Laura the day of the barbeque or for his face to twist in a scowl, but instead Derek just shrugs a little. “Kind of?”

Stiles blinks at him. “What? Seriously?”

Derek shrugs again. “I’ll admit I’m a bit bored with life at the moment. Mostly I just walk around the woods or do handy-man stuff around the house.” He glances out the kitchen window and clears his throat softly. “I don’t really have any projects to work on at the moment.”

“You only came here Monday because Laura told you to,” Stiles accuses, taking the _totally_ mature route.

Derek gives Stiles a look. “Laura can only boss me around to a certain degree. If I didn’t feel like coming here, I wouldn’t have.” He studies Stiles for a moment. “I wanted to make it up to you for being a jerk.”

“Well,” Stiles puffs, all his righteous indignation flooding out of him at the honest admission. He scratches the back of his head. “You don’t have to clean and cook, you know. I’m not saying I don’t appreciate it and when I saw you, I _was_ kind of hoping you’d make French toast, but, like, you don’t have to. I forgive you, or,” he waves his hand around, “whatever, for being rude.”

“French toast.” Derek rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at his mouth as he says, “I _knew_ you just wanted me to cook.”

“I am a decent cook, thank you very much, but I always burn French toast and I’ve been craving it for like, two days, for some reason,” Stiles gripes as Derek moves around the kitchen and pulls stuff from the cabinets and fridge.

“You’re probably psychic,” Derek muses.

“Why do you say that?”

Derek’s grin makes Stiles’ stomach swoop. “Because I make the best French toast.”

Stiles licks his lips, trying not to sound as affected as he feels when he asks, “Compared to?”

“ _All_ other French toast.” Derek’s tone implies that it should be obvious.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Well, we’ll see about that.”

Twenty minutes later, Stiles throws down his fork and demands through a mouth full of the most _perfect_ French toast he’s ever eaten, “How the fuck do you do that?!”

Derek wiggles his fingers and says, “Magic.”

Stiles throws his napkin at him.

Later that night, Stiles is attempting to tidy up the living room when he finds the purple post it with Derek’s number on it underneath one of his notebooks.

He stares at it for a second before he adds the number to his phone. Giggling to himself, because he’s a mature adult, he types out a message.

_To Chef Derek:_

_This is Stiles._

Derek seems to be the exception to the rule of lightning quick responses when it comes to the people from Hallowed Grounds. It takes a whole episode of Shameless before Stiles’ phone vibrates with a reply.

**_From Chef Derek:_ **

**_Good to know._ **

Stiles rolls his eyes, not sure what he expected, but he’s half-smiling as he tosses his phone down on the couch and starts the next episode.

**\-----**

Stiles wakes up to a text from Derek telling him that there won’t be any breakfast today and he should try not to starve.

_To Chef Derek:_

_I am an adult and will not die without you feeding me, thank you very much._

Twenty minutes later, he has to ask Derek where the flour is.

**_From Chef Derek:_ **

**_In the cabinet where it belongs._ **

“It’s in the cabinet where it belongs,” Stiles mocks under his breath, opening the cabinet and finding it sitting on the bottom shelf. “Dammit!”

After a plate of paper thin pancakes, he scrolls down through his contacts, clicking on the one for the shop.

_“Hallowed Grounds, this is Erica. How can I help you?”_

“Hey pretty lady,” Stiles greets, stretching out on the couch. “Whatcha wearin’?”

_“Well, hey there, Sailor,”_ Erica purrs. _“The blood of my enemies adorns me, as usual.”_

“Naturally. So, anything exciting going on over there today?”

_“Hmm, if you count the woman that runs the flower shop next door intentionally running over her husband’s foot as ‘something’, then yes.”_ She sighs. _“If not, then nope. Totally dull.”_

“Same here,” Stiles sighs back. “So… if I were to show up at the shop today…”

Erica snorts and informs him gleefully, _“Laura said she’ll kick your ass and send you home.”_

“I didn’t mean to _work_ ,” he insists. Erica makes a rude noise and he mutters, “I’m not _broken_ , you know. Just a little jacked up. I’ll be fine in a few days.”

“Then you can come back to work in a few days,” she tells him, sounding perfectly reasonable which is the last thing he wants to hear.

“Ugh!” Stiles crumples up a piece of scrap paper and throws it up in the air. “Who’re you working with today?”

_“Boyd.”_

“Huh.” He throws the paper ball up in the air again. “What’s _he_ wearing?”

_“Judgement, specifically for you,”_ Boyd answers, startling Stiles.

_“Goodbyyye, Stiles,”_ Erica sings in the background before the line disconnects.

With nothing left to do and no one left to pester, Stiles picks up one of the books that Laura sent over with Derek.

The title is familiar and he realizes it’s been on his To Read list for a while. It seems like a pretty cool Young Adult novel, something about a girl whose family is psychic and a bunch of prep school boys.

“Why is it always ravens or crows?” he ponders aloud, skimming the first couple of pages.

He shambles into the kitchen, grabs some chips, and settles back onto the couch.

Six hours later, Stiles closes the book and reaches for the second one.

\-----

Stiles is up relatively early since he passed out so cleanly the night before.

After his morning ablutions, where he stands in front of the mirror grimacing at his patchy skin, he takes a chance that Derek’s already awake and fires off a text.

_To Chef Derek:_

_You coming by today?_

**_From Chef Derek:_ **

**_Planned on it._ **

_To Chef Derek:_

_Well, in that case, you’re late._

**_From Chef Derek:_ **

**_You’re never up before eleven._ **

_To Chef Derek:_

_But today I’m hungryyy. :(_

**_From Chef Derek:_ **

**_Brat._ **

Stiles puffs out a breath, willing himself to grow up and deal with the fact that he’s likely going to have to make his own breakfast again. He’s gotten spoiled and he rolls his eyes at himself. He’s wondering what to make when his phone goes off again.

**_From Chef Derek:_ **

**_Be there in 20._ **

Stiles grins and is still grinning when he pulls the door open for Derek nineteen minutes later.

Yes, he timed it, because _breakfast_.

Derek takes one look at him and rolls his eyes before walking past him with a muttered, “You’re insufferable.”

“Whatcha making today?” Stiles asks instead of commenting on Derek’s statement.

Derek glares, sighs, and starts clattering around the kitchen while Stiles settles at the table with a smile.

\-----

_Derek isn’t able to make it to Stiles’ house on Saturday. He’s too tired from searching the woods all night and just wants to sleep. Really, he was tired the morning before too, but he couldn’t make himself stay home again when Stiles texted him._

_Today, though…_

_Derek’s jaws creak as he yawns widely, his eyes watering. He stumbles into his room, shucking his clothes as he moves before falling into his bed._

To Stiles:

Not going to make it today.

_He knows, like the text from two days ago, it won’t get answered for at least a few hours so he passes out._

_When his phone goes off, Derek jerks awake and nearly blinds himself with the light from his screen. Squinting through one eye, he huffs a laugh when he sees the text._

**From Stiles:**

**Ok. Tacos for lunch tomorrow?**

To Stiles:

Fine.

**From Stiles:**

**:)**

_Derek snorts and rolls his eyes, locking his phone and dropping it onto his bed. He tells himself he’ll get up in a second and he blinks slowly, once, twice…_

_Cora screams, an angry sound, and Derek sits straight up in bed, his whole body on alert. When he hears Isaac’s shrill giggling and the sound of pounding feet, he sighs and flops back. Those two will be the death of him, he’s sure._

_He rubs his face and stretches with a long, groaning growl then rolls out of bed. He pulls on sweatpants and opens his door to see Erica leaning over the railing with a grin and hears Boyd bitching about the paint in the hallway._

_“What’s going on?” he asks as he moves past the blonde._

_She doesn’t look away from what he assumes is carnage as she says, “Isaac put itching powder in Cora’s laundry.”_

_“That’s shitty.”_

_She shrugs, finally looking at him. She’s pretty, like always, but he can see that she’s tired too, in the way that her eyes squint slightly, her mouth pulling down a bit at the corner. “She stole all his shoes and threw them in the back yard before it rained last night.”_

_Derek closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “They are both grown-ass adults.”_

_Erica laughs and he opens his eyes to see her grin lighting up her face. “Pssh! That doesn’t mean a_ thing _in this house and you know it.”_

_He snorts in agreement and the two of them head downstairs, Erica splitting off toward the den and Derek continuing into the kitchen._

_It’s early enough that Laura’s sitting at the table, doing the crossword with the rest of the newspaper scattered around her._

_“Morning,” she greets and he grunts in return as he goes to the coffee pot._

_They don’t speak for a few blissful moments and Derek thinks he may be okay when he hears Laura take a careful breath. He tenses, waiting._

_“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Stiles lately,” Laura says in her_ We’re Not Having A Talk But We’re Totally Having A Talk _voice._

_Derek wills his shoulders to drop from where they’ve risen to his ears and takes a deep breath before he turns around. He keeps his voice bland when he says, “I’m trying to make up for being a jerk before.”_

_It takes a lot for him to keep from throwing the other pack members under the bus, what with them having spent plenty of time with Stiles in their fur too, but he manages._

_Laura hums, not looking up from the paper, a common tactic she uses when she wants to talk but doesn’t want to interrogate her pack members with her Alpha Stare._

_“Well, it’s good that he’s got someone to keep him occupied. Erica says he’s beyond bored. She spends more time on Snapchat with him than she does working.”_

_Derek shrugs. “He’s doing okay. He should be fine in a couple of days.”_

_“That’s good to hear.” The tone in her voice tells him she’s done interrogating him for the moment._

_He grabs his mug and slips from the kitchen as quickly as he can without looking like he’s running away from her._

_“Chicken. Bawk bawk bawk bawk,” Erica taunts as he passes the den and he flips her off before going back up the stairs._

_Before he makes it to the landing, he pauses and turns to see her standing in the doorway. “You should go hang out with Stiles,” he tells her._

_She holds up her phone and wiggles it at him. “We’ve been Snapchatting off and on since three.”_

_Derek gives her a look. “I meant as Sugar.”_

_“Don’t you want to go over later? After all, we all know that_ Shadow _is his favorite,” she teases._

_He shifts a bit, uncomfortable. “I’d rather not.”_

_She looks at him for a moment before she shrugs. “Yeah, alright.”_

_Boyd walks down the stairs past Derek, clapping him on the shoulder._

_Erica grins. “Maybe Stiles should meet Truffle soon. That’d brighten his spirits,” she says with faux innocence._

_Boyd freezes, looking between the two of them. “Really? Why don’t we just shout ‘we’re werewolves’ at the top of our lungs? It’d be just as subtle.” He shakes his head and continues into the kitchen._

_“He’s totally gonna do it,” Erica whispers, a conspiratorial grin curling her mouth. “I give it two days.”_

_Derek grins back, kind of glad he didn’t tattle on the other pack members. “Totally.”_

\-----

Stiles sighs and tosses a ball of paper up in the air, catching it and tossing it again.

Derek’s already come and gone for the day. While the tacos Stiles was promised were very good, Derek spent half the visit distracted, looking outside so much that it was starting to make Stiles jumpy.

He texted Scott for a little bit too, but he’s pretty sure that his brother’s asleep or busy right now because it’s been a while since he’s gotten a reply.

He’s so, so bored… so very, _very_ , _achingly_ bored. So bored that he’s considering _cleaning_.

Things have gotten serious.

He tosses the ball up in the air and hears scratching at the back door. He looks that direction then winces when the paper ball lands on his face and bounces away.

He goes to the kitchen and sees Sugar sitting on the porch, scratching absently at her ear. Next to her is Cinnamon who’s staring at the window and gives a bark when she sees him.

He opens the door and coos, “Hello, beautiful girls!”

The two of them swarm through the door, sniffing at him curiously and butting their heads against his knees and hands.

He spends most of the day hanging around with the two of them, watching TV and eating and napping.

It’s shocking how much his mood improves after being around the dogs and, the next day, he wakes up and sees Cinnamon and Biscuit already waiting on the porch for him.

“Hey, you little cuties!” he calls as he opens the door and lets Biscuit sniff at his injuries and at the bandage on his ankle.

Biscuit snorts and licks Stiles’ shin before slapping Cinnamon in the face with his tail as he settles on the kitchen floor.

Cinnamon lets out a huff and flops on top of Biscuit, making Stiles laugh as he starts the coffee pot.

When Derek gets there a little while later, both dogs become very vocal, growling playfully and butting him with their heads as he squats down to pat their sides.

Derek growls back, showing his teeth and the dogs dance around him gleefully.

Stiles stares at Derek. “Are they your dogs?”

“What?” Derek looks up at him and Cinnamon takes advantage of his distraction, nudging him and almost knocking him onto his ass.

Stiles grins and repeats, “Are they your dogs? They seem to like you a lot.”

“Nah.” Derek shakes his head, patting Cinnamon’s side and ruffling Biscuit’s ears. “They tend to roam around the woods so I’ve seen them a lot over the years.”

“Huh.”

Derek gives Cinnamon’s side one last solid pat and stands, brushing off his clothes. “It’s a nice day out. Want to eat on the porch?”

Stiles agrees and they have sandwiches and salad outside, watching the dogs chase each other around the yard while they eat.

After tidying up, Derek pauses on his way to the door. “I’ve got some stuff to do for the next couple of days so I won’t be able to come by until Thursday.” He grins, a wicked thing that makes Stiles’ stomach flutter and his eyes narrow. “Think you’ll manage without me for two days?”

“Shut up. Get out of my house,” Stiles demands, tossing his nose in the air and pointing toward the door.

“I’ll see you on Thursday,” Derek laughs, not pointing out that he’s technically already outside the house. He goes inside and presumably heads toward the front door.

“If I even let you in,” Stiles calls, his mouth half quirked up at Derek’s ridiculousness. He hears the front door close and a few minutes later, Derek’s car start up. “I’ll probably let him in,” he confesses to Biscuit who’s stretched out next to him on the bench, demanding to be petted.

The yellow dog snorts at him, tongue lolling.

“Yeah, I know. I’ve got problems,” Stiles agrees with a sigh, patting the dog’s side.

\-----

Tuesday finds Stiles outside on the back porch again, laptop set up and cup of coffee on a small milk crate that he’s using as a side table.

He writes for a bit and almost spills his whole mug of coffee on himself when his phone vibrates in his pocket.

**_From Dad:_ **

**_Mind if I come by tomorrow a.m._ **

_To Dad:_

_Sure think, pops._

_*thing_

**_From Dad:_ **

**_Okay c u then_ **

He smiles, tossing his phone down on the cushion beside him so it won’t scare him again if it goes off.

Around three, he makes a bowl of noodles then returns to find Cinnamon and a new dog sitting on his porch.

“And who is this? Muffin? Brownie?” Stiles asks, leaning over to pat the tall silvery gray dog.

It stares up at him with big yellow eyes, lifting its chin then tilting its head to the side as if it’s studying him. The dog huffs and gives a quiet _boof_ that makes Stiles grin.

“Let’s see what your name is, pup.” Stiles checks the collar and finds a star-shaped charm with _Truffle_ inscribed on it. “Oh my god. This is fucking precious and I need to meet your owner because I think I might be in love with them.”

Cinnamon butts her head against his leg and he turns with a grin.

“Yes, yes, you’re cute too.” He turns back to Truffle. “Well bud, welcome to Stilinski’s Doggie Day Camp. Our senior counselor is currently MIA, so you can learn the ropes from Cinnamon.”

As if she knows what he’s saying, the red dog hops up on the cushion and sprawls out, looking smug and comfortable.

“See, that’s the spirit!” Stiles laughs, shaking out the blanket that he has on the floor. “You can either share with her or settle down here. Or whatever you want, really. We’re a pretty easy going camp. We’ll have _s’mores sans chocolat_ later on, if you’re down.”

Truffle’s tail wags and he settles onto the blanket with a happy sigh, closing his eyes and appearing to immediately drop off to sleep.

“He learns fast. Good addition to the group, girl,” he tells Cinnamon, patting her chest before picking up his laptop and starting to write again.

\-----

He starts the next morning much the same but it’s Sugar and Biscuit that show up mid-morning, both rubbing all over him before settling down, Sugar on the bench and Biscuit on the blanket by Stiles’ feet.

A few hours later, there’s a knock at the front door and Stiles rises, patting Sugar’s side. Biscuit’s tail thumps against the porch as Stiles goes by and Stiles smiles at the yellow dog.

“Hey Dad,” he greets as he opens the door, wincing at the slightly wide-eyed look his dad gives his pathetically peely skin. “I know it looks terrible but I’m fine. Come in, come in.” He stands back and motions his dad toward the kitchen.

John plucks a tiny fur ball off Stiles’ shoulder as he passes. “Who do those dogs really belong to, Stiles?”

“Honestly, I have no clue,” Stiles shrugs as he starts the coffee pot. He settles in the chair across from his dad and smiles. “This is just the coolest place for them to hang out. I already told you: it’s Doggy Day Camp.”

John huffs. “Don’t you think the owner is missing their dogs?”

“I mean, I thought that too, but so far, no one’s shown up to tell me off, so.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s not like I’m actually _keeping_ any of them. They come and lay around on my porch and then they go home.” 

_Maybe I’d keep Shadow,_  he thinks but he knows better than to say it out loud. Plus it’s not like he’s seen the jerk in a while anyway.

“Dad, I know you’re not here to talk about my furry houseguests.” Stiles gives his dad a long look. “Is everything okay?”

John sighs and rubs his face. “There was another murder.”

Stiles nods, feeling his stomach drop. In as steady a voice as he can manage, he says, “Okay. And you wanted to check on me?”

John makes a back and forth motion with his hand. “Yes and no.” When the coffee pot beeps, he gets coffee for both of them.

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can help with?” Stiles prods. “You know how good I am with patterns and random clues.” John still doesn’t look convinced so Stiles heaves a sigh and says, “I’m just so _bored_ here. I can’t work until my ankle heals and I’m having pretty bad writer’s block.”

John raises an eyebrow at him, clearly onto his game, but finally says, “Fine.”

“Fine?” Stiles asks, trying not to sound too enthused.

“Yeah, fine.” John points at him. “No telling anyone any details, got it?”

Stiles raises his right hand. “I solemnly swear.” He smiles. “Besides, I’ve never told anyone about your cases before.”

John gives him a look but chooses to say, “Alright, there’s been another murder.”

Stiles bites his lip. “That makes four, right?”

“Technically, five.”

Stiles blinks. “What?”

John rubs his eyes. “The last one was two victims.”

Stiles waves his hand. “Hold on, let me get something to take notes.” He shuffles into the living room, grabs his notebook and pen, before going back into the kitchen. “Okay, start at the beginning.”

John shifts a little, taking a sip of his coffee. “First was your neighbor, a thirty-eight year old male. Then a twenty-six year old female. Then a seventy-seven year old female.”

Stiles hums, writing the details down in shorthand. “What about the last two?”

John closes his eyes and says quietly, “Nineteen year old female and her ten month old son.”

Stiles stares at his dad, remembering the state that he’d found his neighbor in, bile rising in the back of his throat. “Dad,” he whispers.

John waves it away, clearing his throat and sitting up straight. “I don’t know if there’s anything you can do to help. We haven’t been able to figure out a solid pattern.” John looks at him. “But if you can, I’m not about to say no to a lead, something to track so we can find this monster.”

Stiles nods, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat. “Yeah. I understand.” He glances down at the details again. “Is there anything else that you noticed that may be important?”

John thinks for a moment and tilts his head. “The second victim was pregnant. We thought that may be a link – second and fourth having babies but the second victim was just pregnant so we’re not leaning too heavily on that.”

Stiles notes it and nods. “Okay. Anything age wise or physical type they have in common?”

John shakes his head. “No. Middle three were female, end two were males though I don’t really know that that has anything to do with anything.” He takes another sip of coffee. “Especially since we’re still waiting to see which of the victims died first in the last case.”

Stiles jots that down then mumbles, “This would probably be easier if I had the case files…” He looks hopefully at his dad who sighs and rolls his eyes.

John pulls a rolled up stack of papers from inside his coat and tosses it on the table. “Don’t let those out of your sight. Not that you even have them, officially.”

“Officially, yeah, yeah, you got it,” Stiles assures him, yanking the papers toward himself and immediately skimming the information. “So, the first victim was Caucasian. The second victim was Hispanic. The third was African American. The fourth and fifth were Caucasian.”

John nods. “It seems like there’s not a distinct pattern."

"Unless it would have been the next one and the, uh, baby wasn’t supposed to count?” Stiles mutters, flipping pages and mind whirling with information.

“That’s what I thought too.” John rises and puts his mug in the sink.

“So why them? If it’s just random killing…” He and his dad share a look. “I’ll keep looking. Try to find something.”

John nods and reaches out, rubbing his hand over Stiles’ hair. “You look like hell, kid, but it’s good to know your head still works.”

“You know it.” Stiles grins and walks his dad to the door.  “Love you Dad.”

“Love you too, son.”

Stiles shuts the door and checks out back to see if the dogs are still there. Both are gone and, well, maybe it’s for the best since Stiles probably shouldn’t look at the case information outside.

He sets up the coffee table as his info center, using the armchair as a linking board after he finds a container of sewing pins in the drawer of the coffee table.

He pours over the copied files for hours. He takes notes, doodling in the margin of his notebook as he tries to prompt his mind to make the connections he needs it to. So far he has a few theories but nothing solid enough to give to his dad.

Mostly he just has ideas for a story and that’s not really what he’s supposed to be doing, so he pushes that away.

He rubs his eyes when he’s having problems seeing and realizes the sun has almost set, casting the living room into shadows. He leans over and turns the lamp on then gets some food.

Luckily his dad hadn’t included the photos of the scenes – reading about them is bad enough and he can still remember the first one.

He isn’t really hungry but he knows he needs to eat something. Standing in the kitchen, munching on something from one of the colorful plastic containers, he watches out the window as the last of the light fades and the darkness of the woods creeps across the yard.

It makes a chill crawl up his spine so he goes back into the living room, moves the coffee table closer to the chair, and sets up his laptop to watch some cartoons so he can maybe get some sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think. :)
> 
> Please remember: I am not done revising the later chapters of the story. I currently work two jobs and have a very busy personal life so I am not sure when I will finish, only that I will finish it eventually.
> 
> Also: I've left the old chapters "up" still since I don't want to lose the comments, but they are empty of content for the time being.
> 
> Thanks to all of you that have commented and left kudos - you make me smile like a fool. Next chapter will be up soon.
> 
> kisskiss  
> ♡ Scotch


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello little babs!
> 
> Hope y'all had a good weekend. Daylight savings is currently kicking my ass. So, just in case you're dragging the way I am, here's another chapter to perk you up!
> 
> Please excuse any mistakes.
> 
> Warning: things get a little intense in this chapter (tho for you babs that read the first version, it's not _nearly_ as bad as it was) - so hop down to the bottom notes for more in-depth warnings if you need them, 'kay? It's pretty much canon typical, I think, but I'd rather you guys be safe with yourselves. :)
> 
> Enjoy!

_On Wednesday afternoon, Derek leans against the counter with his arms crossed and watches Laura process what Isaac and Erica have just told her after leaving Stiles’ house._

_“Another one,” she whispers after a moment, biting her lip as she stares into space. “Goddammit.”_

_“This is really, really bad,” Isaac states bleakly from his spot on the counter behind Erica._

_Boyd’s voice drifts from Laura’s phone on the table._ “Does Deaton have any more information about what this thing could be?”

_“He hasn’t found anything yet,” Laura sighs, rubbing her forehead._

“I just don’t understand how we haven’t found a den or anything yet,” _Cora says, the line crackling a little as she takes the phone from Boyd._

_“It’s not like we aren’t out every night looking,” Isaac reminds her._

_Before the two can devolve into bickering, Derek chimes in with something that’s been biting at him for a couple of days. “Maybe… it could be targeting single people who live near the Preserve.”_

_Laura glances over at him, jerking his chin for her to continue._

_“I mean, it went for Stiles first, right?”_

_Erica growls lowly and Isaac kisses the side of her head, murmuring something into her ear that makes her quiet down again._

_Derek divorces himself from the urge to growl too and ticks off the people on his fingers. “It got Mark Johnson, Stiles’ neighbor, single; Callie Briggs, single; Sherry, uh…” He snaps his fingers, trying to recall the name of the woman that managed the flower shop._

_“Wilson,” Laura supplies quietly._

_“Right. She was single too, right?” Derek taps his thumb on his arm. “My guess is that the last victim was single too.”_

_Isaac shakes his head. “I mean, sure, that could be a connecti0n, but until we know who it was then we won’t know for sure.”_

“Guys…” _Cora says slowly._

_“What? What is it?” Laura asks, leaning forward and staring at her phone._

“I just found out who it was.”

_“Who?”_

“Sarah Wayne.”

_Derek feels cold, glancing at Laura whose face has gone white._

_His older sister’s voice shakes as she closes her eyes and asks, “What about her little boy?”_

_Cora doesn’t answer but really, the rest of the pack doesn’t need her to._

_Laura takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Everyone watches as she does it again before opening her eyes._

“What’s the plan?” _Boyd asks, not as one friend to another but as a Second asking his Alpha._

_Laura is composed; her gaze is steely as she looks at the pack members in the kitchen. “We search every inch of the Preserve. Double our patrols, watch over our people. And when we find this thing, we kill it.”_

_Derek, Erica, and Isaac nod. Boyd and Cora growl through the phone._

_They’re going to stop whatever is doing this to their town, one way or another._

\-----

Stiles is groggy and irritable when he wakes up Thursday morning, though perhaps “waking up” isn’t the right term since he pretty much tossed and turned all night, plagued by nightmares.

He’s scowling at the stupid, slow ass coffee pot when there’s a knock on the front door.

He growls and limps angrily over, pulling it open and leaving it that way when he sees that it’s Derek standing there.

Derek follows him back to the kitchen, wisely saying nothing for a few minutes while he puts away another bag of groceries and Stiles attempts to speed up the coffee pot with his mind and angry gaze.

When the pot is finished, Stiles makes his coffee and slumps into his chair at the table, sipping it in grumpy silence.

“Your ankle looks like it’s healing nicely,” Derek offers after a few minutes of quiet, clearly attempting to bring Stiles out of his funk.

Stiles looks at his ankle and wiggles his toes, thinking that it does seem to be a lot better. “I guess,” he admits begrudgingly.

Derek’s tone is still light as he continues, “And your road-rash looks worse than ever.”

Stiles narrows his eyes at Derek over the rim of his coffee cup and says nothing.

Derek smiles, shaking his head at Stiles’ shitty attitude with something like fondness pulling at his tired eyes.

Stiles watches him move around his kitchen like he belongs there, putting the sugar back in the right spot and kicking a towel toward the laundry room without touching it, though he does give a judgmental huff.

The cloud of frustration and anger that’s hovering over him dissipates a bit. Stiles tilts his head, studying the other man.

“Well damn,” Stiles mutters after a moment.

“What?” Derek asks, glancing over his shoulder.

“I think we’re friends.”

Derek looks confused but nods. “It was my understanding that we were headed in that direction, yes.”

“Huh,” Stiles grunts, “weird.”

“Is it?” Derek asks, leaning against the counter with his own cup of coffee.

“I mean…” Stiles shrugs, trying to parse out the oddness he’s feeling. “I don’t really make friends easily.”

“You’re friends with everyone from the shop,” Derek offers.

“That was an accident.” He winces right after it comes out of his mouth.

Derek snorts. “I’m sure they’ll be flattered to hear that.”

Stiles flaps his hand at him. “Oh shut up. I just meant, it wasn’t, like, _intentional_.” He frowns. “No, that’s not right either.”

Derek waits, eyebrows lifted to show he’s listening.

So, Stiles tries again. “It was not my _intention_ to make four new friends so quickly and I’m still not sure that Cora even likes me.”

Derek’s smile is half-hidden behind his coffee cup but Stiles catches it.

“What’s so funny? Your sister is scary,” Stiles insists.

“If she didn’t like you,” Derek informs him, “you would know. Trust me.”

“I guess.” Stiles taps at his mug and mulls over what he wants to say. “I think…” Derek hums to show he’s listening as he turns and starts washing his cup. “I think that what’s making it so weird is that I don’t really have a lot of people that I’m extremely close with. Physically or emotionally or whatever.”

Derek doesn’t turn around, just nods.

It makes it easier for Stiles to continue. “I have like, _three people_. I mean, other than my dad and Melissa.” He frowns and bites his lip, counting again silently: _Scott, Ally, and Erica_. “Wow, when I say it out loud, it sounds more pathetic than I thought it would.”

“It’s not pathetic to have a small group of people that you’re close to.” Derek shrugs. “Quality over quantity.”

Stiles hums, studying the way the muscles in Derek’s arms flex as he leans against the sink and peers out into the backyard. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Derek tosses a small smile over his shoulder and Stiles thinks that maybe it’s not so bad, adding Derek to his growing list of friends.

“I’ll warn you though, Tightly-Knit can easily lead to Way-Too-Interested-In-Your-Business,” Derek adds, looking like he knows this from experience as he rolls his eyes.

But there’s a smile tucked into the corner of Derek’s mouth that belies some of the exasperation in his voice.

Stiles snorts into his coffee cup. “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind, too.”

\-----

Friday dawns with another text from Derek saying he can’t come by and Stiles thinks that might be best considering he barely slept, again.

Around midday, he leaves the case notes alone for a while, surfing mindlessly through blogs and letting the information shuffle itself around in his head, making notes when something jumps out at him.

Around eleven that night, he hears howling.

Curious, he gets up and looks out the window, seeing the moon hanging full and perfectly round, his mind replaying his dad telling him that there aren’t any wolves in California.

It could be a group of kids in the woods howling at the moon like he and Scott used to do or maybe even the dogs. He smiles to himself thinking about Shadow, Sugar, Cinnamon, Biscuit, and Truffle running around and playing under the full moon and shrugs it off.

When he hears howling again at around one, it sounds a little closer and he’s in the kitchen. He looks out the window in the backdoor and sees a dark form pacing through the tree line just at the edge of the silver-lit back yard.

He smiles hard, rushing to the laundry room and pulling on a loose t-shirt before heading outside.

He doesn’t bother with the light, just sits on his porch steps and holds his hands out, saying, “Hey Shadow! I’ve missed you!”

Shadow hesitates like he hasn’t since Stiles first saw him and Stiles moves further down the steps, resting his rump on the second to last stair and bringing himself more level to Shadow’s eyes.

“Come on buddy, come on so I can give you a giant hug that you’ll give me a shitty look for,” Stiles calls cheerfully. “All the others have been here and gotten some love already. Where have you been lately anyway? Too cool to hang out with me anymore?”

Shadow’s eyes flash red and Stiles squints, wondering if there’s another light shining somewhere from the house that would make Shadow’s eyes reflect like that.

The dog moves out of the woods in a quick pace, heading straight towards him and stopping just out of arm’s reach, lips lifting and showing large white teeth.

The kitchen light is a warm yellow glow that shows him that the hulking, dark creature standing less than a foot away from him is  _definitely_   _not_  Shadow.

He knows he should try and do something, try to get away, but he’s stuck in place, heart hammering against his ribs and limbs locked.

The creature growls lowly, making Stiles shiver. It tenses to leap at him and he can finally move but all he manages is to closes his eyes, curving his left arm over his face as he holds his breath.

It feels like he’s been hit in the arm with a baseball bat and his breath bursts from him in a scream. The creature bites deep and gives his arm a shake, yanking him to the ground and starting to drag him through the grass toward the woods.

Adrenaline rushes through him and he thrashes, swinging out a fist and clocking the thing in the side of the head. He ignores the pain in his left side as the creature releases him with a whine.

He rolls to his hands and knees, scrabbling along the ground and trying to get enough momentum to get back on his feet. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he curses as his bare feet slip on the damp grass, his sore ankle throbbing.

He’s crushed to the ground a second later, a throaty croak creeping from him as the creature grabs his left bicep and drags him toward the woods once more.

He thinks he screams again, he probably does, if he has enough air, but who knows since his lungs are on fucking fire.

A wave of blackness washes across his vision. He shakes his head, determined to stay conscious, to keep fighting.

He’s lifted up then released suddenly and has a fleeting moment of hope that he can get away until someone roughly grabs his hair and slams his head against the ground.

He groans, blinking up at a blurry human face hovering above him. “Hey…” he starts muzzily, his sentence trailing off into a confused warble as he sees that the person has red eyes that seem to leave after-trails in his fuzzy vision.

The mouth of the face comes into slight focus and it’s filled with teeth that look sharp and too large.

The hand in his hair is almost gentle this time but he knows what’s coming and when his head hits the ground again, he can’t shake off the darkness that follows.

**\-----**

_Derek paces, waiting as Laura, fully shifted with dark brown fur shining beautifully in the light of the moon, nudges and plays with Cora and Isaac. Boyd slips out of the house with Erica following behind him. The two of them shift and drop to all fours, shaking off the last of the change._

_Once Laura has let Erica and Boyd rub their cheeks to hers, she tips her head back and gives a beautiful howl. They all join her, filling the night with their intertwined voices._

_They all take off, running together in a powerful wave that always makes Derek’s heart swell._

_Pack_ _._

_He can almost see the threads binding them together, entwining them all closer as they move with and around one another seamlessly._

_A large buck, dappled in the moonlight, freezes as they draw near, its nostrils quivering and its heart hammering._

_The pack pauses, shifting back and forth and debating whether or not to give chase._

_The creature stares at them, its eyes wide enough to show the whites._

_Laura snorts in the deer’s direction then yips at the pack and starts running again, the others falling into line behind her as she weaves her way through the trees that seem to whisper and reach out to caress the fur of the Alpha._

_Beacon Hills awakens under the touch of her paws as they draw away from the deer and deeper into the preserve._

_The pack gads about for hours._

_At one point, Derek can barely breathe from the feeling welling in his chest – the full moon bright and singing, his pack twisting around him, the earth alive and breathing under his paws – he throws back his head and howls._

_Laura’s smooth voice joins his and the rest of the pack follows suit._

_The sound drops off and Laura turns, biting gently into the meat of Isaac’s shoulder before taking off. The rest of them scatter and Isaac holds still for five seconds before darting after Cora who rolls under his belly and darts away with a mocking sound. He snags Erica instead and skitters away, his mouth open in a wolfish grin._

_Erica catches the tip of Derek’s tail and he freezes, waiting as the rest of them scamper about. He takes a step to leap after Boyd when he hears the thinnest echo of a scream. Erica, mid-jog, stops next to him and turns her head toward the sound._

_He turns his head too and waits, listening closely. Another scream that trails off into a howl of agony pierces the air. Derek can feel Erica’s growl and he rumbles too as they take off toward the sound._

_As the brush thins around them, Derek recognizes the area and a chill rolls down his spine._

_He hurls himself through the trees and almost falls into Stiles’ backyard. The smell of blood is sharp and it’s overlaid with the smell of the creature they’ve been searching for._

_Derek’s lips pull back from his teeth as he moves to the porch steps and he feels the hair rise along his spine._

_How dare someone hurt_   _Stiles _? And why?__

_But a little voice in the back of Derek’s head makes him pause, reminding him that the thing that ripped apart Stiles’ neighbor stopped at Stiles’ house first._

_Hell, he’d said it himself, two days ago._

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._

_Erica makes a savage sound and Derek runs over. She’s sniffing furiously at a spot that has the strongest concentration of the creature’s smell that they’ve ever found and the bitter smell makes Derek sneeze explosively._

_Erica paces, clearly eager to follow the trail but she waits for her Alpha, though it looks like it’s killing her to do so. Derek feels like his skin is crawling and all he can think about is whether or not Stiles is okay._

_He refuses to wonder if Stiles is dead._

_Laura appears, breaking through the trees with the rest of the pack on her heels. She leads them over, taking deep breaths around the spot before she looks off into the woods._

_She waits until they’ve all got it before giving a sharp howl and shooting off, the rest of them falling into formation behind her._

_The ground is eaten up under their swift paws, the land seeming to urge them on, faster and faster, until the only thing Derek can hear is his own heart pounding in his ears, the smell of Stiles’ blood in his nose._

\-----

Stiles wakes up twice, the first time only for a few seconds, blinking twice at a solitary camping lantern placed in front of him before he slips back into darkness.

The second time he wakes up, angry whispers break up the darkness and he notices two people standing in one of the shadowed corners of the room.

A masculine voice demands, “What were you  _thinking?_  Have you lost all your senses?”

“Why are you so upset?” The voice snapping back sounds feminine, a little distressed and confused but also angry.

“Can’t you smell them all over him? You will bring down the whole pack of those mutts after us!” A slam, like something striking a wall, follows the statement and a small sound escapes the woman.

“Mutts,” Stiles mumbles, the smell of rotted wood and stale water making his stomach tight. There’s a line of cold down his back from where he’s got to be tied to something metal.

“They were too close,” the woman insists. “I heard him talking to his father, the _police_ _officer_ ,” she stresses. “They would have caught us. I removed the obstacle.”

It brings Stiles closer to consciousness, hearing this strange woman talk about his dad. And really, how could she have heard him? The door was closed and no one was in the house but the two of them and she can’t possibly hear through walls, right?

_Right_?

“The trails we’ve laid are difficult to untangle. We started small enough and they would not have caught us. _Now_ , you’ve given them incentive to find us.”

The woman hisses, “I  _will_  have this child and  _no one will stop me_  - not even you!”

The man sighs. “I don’t want to stop you, my love. You know that.” There’s silence until, “I worry for you, that you are making decisions without thinking them through first.”

“I  _will_  be a mother,” comes her muffled but passionate reply.

“I know,” the man soothes.

Stiles is seriously lost, raising his head and sighing as his eyes flutter. Feeling thrums back into his arms and he sort of wishes he’d stayed numb when his left arm throbs, reminding him that he’s injured.

A low moan slips out of him when the two figures in the shadows turn toward him and step into the circle of lantern light.

“What…” he croaks, peering at the woman’s face, “I’ve seen you?”

The woman flinches, digging her fingers into the man’s arm and pushing her hair back with her other hand. Her face – plain, pale, unremarkable – twists as she hisses, “I told you he would recognize me. He’s practically burning with the Spark.”

“I don’t _know_ you,” Stiles informs her snappishly, “I just mean that I’ve seen you before, like, around.” Outside the shop once or twice, in the grocery store, once just walking down the street. “It’s not a huge town, you know.”

When the woman actually hisses this time and the man narrows his eyes, Stiles thinks that maybe he should try to curb his natural sass since he’s tied up and all.

“You know what we are, you mongrel loving brat!” She lunges at him.

Stiles jerks back and nails his head against the pole he’s tied to just as the man catches the woman around the waist.

The man sighs, holding her easily, even as she kicks and growls, trying to reach Stiles, her nails and teeth elongating and her eyes glowing red.

“What the fuck, dude. What’s going on?!” Stiles shouts, pressing back against the pole hard enough that it digs into his vertebrae. He thinks about the face he saw right before he passed out.

Stiles starts panting because this is seriously like something from one of his  _books_  and it is suddenly the funniest thing in the entire world.

He’s tied up in some run down building after being attacked, being accused of something that he has no idea about, and these people clearly aren’t human.

He can’t control it; a high, frenetic giggle fizzes forth before he can stop it.

The man gives him a hard look before turning around the pushing the thrashing woman through a door that Stiles hadn’t noticed.

He bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, making himself stop laughing because he knows that if he doesn’t, he’ll keep going until he starts screaming.

He jumps again when the man walks back through the door and plops onto the dirt a few feet away from him. His brow is furrowed as he studies Stiles, his head slightly tilted like he can see inside Stiles if he focuses hard enough.

After nearly a minute, Stiles snaps, “Quit staring at me, dude. It’s fucking creepy.”

The stares at Stiles for a few more seconds before he frowns and rubs his face. “You truly know nothing other than the deaths, do you?”

Stiles squints, wondering if there’s a right answer here. “I know about the murders, yeah,” he says slowly.

The man nods then stares into space.

Silence creeps into the room and Stiles shifts a little, wildly uncomfortable.

“She, uh,” Stiles says, clearing his throat when the man raises his eyebrows but doesn’t look at him, “she said something about me burning?”

“She spoke of your Spark,” the man says, still not looking at him.

Well at least they aren’t planning on setting him on fire, so that’s good, right? “That doesn’t mean anything to me.”

The man shrugs. “You are clearly ignorant.”

Stiles makes an indignant sound.

The man finally looks at him again, eyes searching once more.  “Your pack is coming.”

Stiles asks, “My what?”

The man’s gaze shifts away again. “It really is criminal for them to be so entwined with you and leave you uninformed. They left you blindfolded even as they painted a target on your back.”

Stiles wiggles his fingers to see if he can loosen the rope around his wrists. “Are you talking about the pack of dogs that hang out at my house? I mean, dude, they’re cute and all but they’re just goofy dogs.”

“Dogs.” The man’s voice is slightly amused and the corners of his mouth curl. “Really? Try again. You’re too smart not to see it.”

“I thought I was _ignorant_ ,” he snarls. The ropes are too tight and he pulls, frustrated enough to forget how badly his left arm is torn up until he cries out at the fresh burst of pain.

“Perhaps you’re being willfully blind,” the man muses.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, asshole!” Stiles shouts, pushing the tiny voice inside him down as it starts to scream that maybe the man is right, that he _does_ know something.

He feels fresh blood welling from his bicep and forearm. He thinks hard, trying to remember how long it can take someone to bleed out from an injury.

Surely he won’t bleed to death from two little arm injuries? What a dumb way to go out.

The man sighs as if Stiles is exhausting him. “The people around you are often not as they seem.” He looks directly at Stiles’ face and his eyes flash red, just like the woman’s.

“What people? What _are_ you? Both of you?” He’s so confused and he feels like he’s going crazy. Fatigue is creeping up on him, making it harder to focus.

The man’s whole body stiffens and he lets out a high-pitched sound that makes Stiles’ hair stand on end. He leaps to his feet and half-shouts something in a language that Stiles doesn’t understand.

In seconds, the woman is back, braced in the doorway, her eyes wide in her face.

The man strides over to her, kissing her firmly. “I’ll lead them off.”

“No, no,” she pleads as she fists her hands in his shirt to keep him in place. “They’ll catch you.”

The man smiles at her, brushing her hair back from her forehead and placing a kiss there. “I will find you, if not in this life, then in the next.”

He backs up and his skin ripples, his ragged clothes falling away in pieces as his body contorts until there’s a massive black boar standing in the same spot.

Stiles blinks hard, wondering if he’s got a bad concussion, as the boar squeals then runs from the room.

The woman stares after the boar for a moment before turning to Stiles. She moves closer, squats a short distance away, and glares at him.

Stiles keeps his mouth shut, not eager to tease her since the man is gone and there’s nothing to stop her from using those long claws on him.

Eventually, she huffs, muttering, “You’re not much to look at.”

“Well, _thanks_ ,” he snarks, cursing his attitude silently when she narrows her eyes at him. Figuring he’s already in the hot seat, he asks, “What are you?”

She bares her teeth at him. “I am simply me.”

The explanation isn’t at all useful, though he doesn’t say as much. “Why are you killing people?”

“I am a predator. I hunger so I hunt. I hunger more now because my child must survive,” she says matter-of-factly, hands folded over her stomach.

Stiles feels like he’s going to be sick. All he can picture is what was left of his neighbor and, _oh god_ , imagines the mom and the baby...

He can’t keep the scorn from his tone as he derides, “You’re eating children to have one of your own? That’s pretty twisted.”

She snaps at him, “It is not  _twisted_. It is what I must do. If I eat no live flesh, my baby will not live.” Her face shifts, the bones moving repulsively beneath her skin. “The witch left and I saw my chance for more than mere survival. I saw the chance for _more_.”

“Witch?” Stiles huffs a laugh. “Sure, why the hell not? Let’s have witches be real too.”

“Stop feigning ignorance!” she shrieks at him and he jumps. “You live in her house! You hide behind her spells!”

_Sarah Stein, a witch?_

Stiles shakes his head. “I’m just a writer, dude,” he tries to tell her, “and sometimes a barista. I seriously don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“My mate is fooled by you but I am not,” she continues as if Stiles hasn’t spoken, crawling towards him with movements that are disjointed and too fast. “You will try to hurt us but I will not let you.”

“Wait, what?” He presses back against the pipe again but she moves close enough that he can smell her rank breath.

“A Spark will make as fine a meal as any,” she hisses before reaching for his injured arm and digging her claws into his wounds.

He screams, kicking his legs and trying to get away from her but he can’t move, tied too securely. When she releases his arm and leans back on her heels, he stares at her through teary eyes.

She licks her pale spider-spindle-thin, claw-tipped fingers clean one-by-one, studying him with those red eyes. When her claws are clean, she murmurs, “You bleed beautifully, little mouse.” She snaps her jaws at him with a cackling sound.

He makes a high, terrified noise that he never knew could come from his throat. His mouth works, trying to form words, but nothing comes out except for a pained groan when she sets her claws on his collarbones and drags down.

Her face twists with something like glee as she withdraws her hand and licks it clean again.

Stiles tells himself not to look, but he does, dropping his eyes to see the right side of his shirt in shreds, his blood dark against the fabric. He tries not to freak out, even as he starts panting again, the edge of a panic attack pressing at the corners of his eyes.

He can’t pass out, not right now. He makes himself breathe, draws air as best he can, even though it feels like he’s breathing through a straw and his skin is on fire.

There’s the sound of breaking wood and growling. He hears something snapping close to him and opens his eyes, frustrated that obviously passed out, despite trying his best to stay awake.

He sees a furred black form in front of him then looks past it to see the woman, changing shape into the giant dog thing that attacked him before.

Her slavering jaws part and she snarls at a slightly smaller black furred form. The two forms collide and Stiles flinches at the meaty sound.

It looks like she’s fighting her own shadow.

_Shadow_.

He thinks he says it out loud, but his head feels stuffy and he can’t be sure.

\-----

_Derek half-turns as Stiles weakly mumbles, “Shadow.”_

_There’s a snarl and Derek whips back around, cursing himself for being distracted. He can taste blood in his mouth and he’s not sure if it’s his or the smelly beast in front of him._

_Right before the creature can leap forward, Cora appears and latches her jaw around the back of the shapeshifter’s neck, rolling her body so that Isaac can get a shot in at the creature’s belly._

_Derek backs up a little, closer to Stiles, and lets his sister and Isaac handle the situation._

_It makes him shudder, how much the creature looks like an Alpha wolf, though there’s something innately_ wrong _about it, something that sets his teeth on edge. Too large, legs too long, the spine too arched or not arched enough, twisted._

_He watches as Cora and Isaac take turns, darting in and then darting back, leaving bloody bites and scratches in their wake._

_The creature snaps her jaws and catches Cora’s back leg, digging into the flank and Cora whimpers, snarling and wiggling to get free. The creature tosses Cora across the room and into a heap of broken furniture._

_Isaac uses the creature’s distraction to latch onto the same spot that Cora had first, digging deep into the back of the neck. He digs in as the creature bucks._

_It’s a move that Laura taught all of them: the quickest way to snap the neck of prey._

_Isaac jerks his head quickly and a sharp crack seems to boom in the dusty air._

_The creature stops struggling and goes utterly limp, its feet twitching as its eyes roll back and reveal that it has black sclera._

_It’s another thing that makes it so unlike a wolf but it unnerves Derek just the same._

_Isaac goes over and checks on Cora’s leg, nudging her in a way that few ever see: tenderly, with concern._

_She half-heartedly snaps at him, limping and leaning against him when he presses himself against her side._

_Satisfied that Isaac’s got Cora taken care of, Derek turns to Stiles and tries to figure out what to do first._

\-----

Stiles’ hands hit the floor and it jolts him into opening his eyes.

He lifts his sagging head and flinches when something nudges his neck. A soft whine breaks through his confusion and he sees Shadow crouched next to him.

“Hey buddy,” he croaks. He wants… he wants to pet Shadow. He’s missed Shadow.

_He thought it was Shadow in the yard but it wasn’t. It was that thing, that woman? Oh god._

His breath hitches and it’s hard to lift his hands. When he finally manages to move, he slides to the right and bumps into something that’s not fur, but warm skin.

_“Oooh_ _,_   _someone’s_   _naaaaked,”_  he sings, feeling his face twist as he lets out a giggle.

“Stiles, look at me,” someone pleads softly. They sound scared which is kinda freaking him out.

“Chill dude,” he mumbles, making himself blink. He lolls his head back and greenish eyes catch his gaze. He stares until he knows the word he wants, a name. “Derek.”

Derek’s face looks like it breaks, lines appearing on his forehead, his mouth thinning.

Stiles reaches up with his right hand since the other one won’t move. It’s bloody but he doesn’t really care all that much.

He trails his fingers over the stubble on Derek’s chin, down his neck and to his collarbones, over the skin of his bare chest, thinks  _hey I’m bleeding here_  while touching the curve of the bicep.

_And… _here?__ He runs his fingers down from the shoulder almost to the hip before his hand drops to the floor. 

“…out of here,” Derek is saying, seemingly not at all bothered that Stiles is practically molesting him. Or that he seems to have left blood all over him.

_Oops_.

Stiles smiles and blinks at Derek, trying hard to focus on the words coming out of his mouth instead of just the curve of his lips.

“…safe now. I’ve got you, Stiles.” Derek takes a deep breath. “I’ll tell you everything, anything you want, just  _please_ don’t...”

He doesn’t know what Derek’s asking him not to do and he can’t focus on it because he’s trying to remember something.

There was something important that someone said that he’s trying to remember and he’s got a good memory, he should be able to remember.

_Stay sharp, Bilinski! And_ pay attention!

No, no, no, that was Coach and his weird sugar high. It was different, or maybe, yes, no?

All of a sudden, Stiles feels arms around him and he feels like he’s flying so he stops trying to think, just closes his eyes and lets himself go.

 -----

White noise, like static on an old TV, cuts through the darkness in Stiles’ head.

An unruffled voice cuts in, like a snagged bit of broadcast, stating, “There’s no swelling in his brain, just a nasty bump.”

“No permanent damage?” asks someone that sounds as calm as the first voice.

“He’ll be fine. Now hold him still.”

Hands settle on his skin and he doesn’t understand why he needs to be held until someone touches his arm and he howls at the ache, trying to twist away.

He thrashes, sees wide brown eyes shining amid blonde tangles and narrowed greenish ones in an anger-tight face. He pushes up and the hands press harder, though the touch is still not hurting, just holding. Warm hands loop around his ankles and keep him from kicking, though he can’t see any eyes, just long brown waves.

There’s pressure and something hot arching through his veins. He doesn’t like it and his body doesn’t like it. His breath catches and his spine bows.

Then, like a puppet whose strings have been cut, he goes limp and passes out.

His sight is blurry when he eventually opens his eyes again. Everything is vaguely cotton-coated but he can feel someone stroking his ankle and calf gently. Words are whispered and they sound wiggly.

“Sss… buh…” he mumbles, trying to move his hands.

Fingers press to the bend in his right arm and, almost too suddenly, everything sharpens into startling focus. He drops his head to the side and fights off a wave of nausea.

Doctor Deaton, the town veterinarian and Scott’s old boss, hovers inches away from his shoulder, pulling a needle and thread through the torn flesh of his bicep.

Deaton’s serene eyes settle on Stiles’ and he flashes a small smile. “Mr. Stilinski. Good to see you again.”

He can’t help but cough out a laugh. “I’m sure you say that to all the gals.”

“Nice to see you’re still yourself, Stiles,” Deaton says and continues to pull the threads.

Stiles must be in shock. He can see the painful thing but he can’t feel it. He’s already got a bandage on his forearm and he can’t really feel that either.

“I’m surprised you’re lucid, though you’ve always had a knack for speaking whenever you’re able.”

_Ah, so that’s why_. Stiles smirks. “Got me on some good shit, Doc?”

“Good enough,” Deaton agrees, leaning back and patting Stiles’ bicep with a cloth before slathering something on it. Deaton tapes a gauze pad down, securing the edges with tape before shifting around his head.

Stiles follows Deaton with his eyes, settling on him as the vet sits next to his right side and examines the sluggishly bleeding wounds from his collarbone to his hip.

Deaton leans closer, murmuring, “Excuse me, Derek.”

Stiles eyes jump to Derek, the man slowly stepping back to give the vet room. He steps forward again, putting his hand on Stiles’ undamaged right shoulder.

“Hey Derek,” Stiles mumbles, “I want crepes, okay? With bananas and Nutella.”

Derek sighs, shaking his head a little, but he smiles and says, “Alright, Stiles.”

Stiles turns his head when he feels someone squeeze his left hand gently. He smiles at Erica. “Well, heya, pretty lady,” he croaks as seductively as he can, then squints, trying to figure out why she’s wrapped in what looks like a medical sheet. “What are you wearing?”

There’s none of the playful smirk he expects as she looks down at the fabric then back up at him, a frown on her face. Her eyes flick to Derek.

Stiles follows her gaze, noting that Derek isn’t wearing much in the way of clothes either, just a ragged pair of jeans that have clearly seen better days. He’s got dirt on his elbow and dust in his hair and blood on his face.

There’s a bloody handprint on his shoulder and a half-formed path of four lines, ending at where the jeans cling to his narrow hips.

_I’m bleeding here._

_Stiles’ heart starts to beat faster._

_The people around you are often not as they seem._

Stiles remembers the flash of the man’s eyes. 

Suddenly, as if all the little things that his minds’ been collecting connect to every bit of weirdness that’s happened since he got home. The last piece of the puzzle clicks into the empty spot.

_The night he almost hit a wolf and went off the road._

_“I’m_ cured _.”_

_“_ _If you want a job, just something to pass the time, let me know.”_

_The most judgmental looking dog he’s ever seen._

_He was hurt and Shadow ran off and suddenly Erica showed up._

_All the dogs coming to his house and never when people were around except for his dad and Derek…_

_And_ Derek’s _been around lately but_ Shadow _hasn’t._

_“You stink,” Cora announces – and Laura was over fifteen feet away and Stiles couldn’t smell a_ thing _._

_Dogs? Really? Try again. You’re too smart not to see it._

_The people around you are often not as they seem._

_**The people around you are often not as they seem.** _

Things are suddenly so fucking clear, even if they make no goddamn sense.

“Oh,” he breathes, eyes prickling.

Derek’s lips draw tight in a frown but he slowly pulls his hand away from Stiles’ shoulder. He drops his eyes, looking to the side and taking a step back from the table.

However, Erica’s grip gets tighter.

Stiles looks at her, one of his oldest friends, make up under her eyes and leaves in her hair and blood under her fingernails.

“Oh,” he repeats, feeling like his breath is being pushed from his lungs, like giant hands are squeezing his ribs.

“Stiles,” Erica implores, tears welling in her eyes as he tries to pull his hand away, “I can explain.”

He stares at her for a moment. “Which one?”

She blinks and almost warbles, “What?”

His voice is hard as he grits out, “Which one are you?” At the blank look on her face, anger flares in his gut. She flinches when he snarls, “Which one of the _dogs_ , Erica, which one are you?”

She doesn’t answer him, just stares at him with wide eyes.

“Jesus,” he hisses, trying to pull his hand away.

Erica gasps, clutching at him and whispering, “Please, Stiles, no, just…”

“And _you_.” He turns his head to look at Derek, staring and trying to make sense of it all but he just _can’t_. It feels like his mouth is filled with acid as he spits, “ _Shadow_.”

Derek flinches with his whole body before turning and leaving the room without a word, the door banging closed behind him.

Stiles feels simultaneously vindicated and so fucking sad.

He pulls his gaze away and sees Laura standing at his feet, dressed in a pair of scrubs with her hands in the pockets. She stares at him.

Her eyes are those of an animal in the wild, utterly neutral, nothing human about them.

_They left you blindfolded even as they painted a target on your back._

_We’re all so obsessed with each other that we have no boundaries. I forget sometimes that other people aren’t like that._

_Pay attention!_

He can’t even think of what to say to her so he just turns his face away, away from Erica’s soft sniffle and from Laura’s detached gaze, and stares at Deaton’s shoulder.

“You should leave,” he tells all of them even though he guesses he’s at the clinic and he has no say. Still, when no one moves, he repeats, “Leave.”

“Stiles,” Erica tries once more, but Isaac cuts her off.

“Hey, let go, babe,” Isaac says softly. “He’ll be fine, he just needs to rest. Come on.”

He feels a kiss pressed to his palm and he feels like he might break wide the fuck open. He takes a deep breath, clenching his hand into a fist and holding in the sob that threatens to burst from his mouth.

Deaton makes a very soft soothing noise and Stiles pretends that it’s for the wounds that he’s stitching up and not for the gaping hole that he feels like is opening up in his chest.

He waits until Deaton looks up and nods at someone and the sounds of footsteps fade followed by a closing door. He waits for it to be just him and Deaton before he lets out a shuddering gasp that feels like it rolls through his whole body.

After that, he’s quiet, tears rolling down his cheeks as he turns his head to stare at the ceiling past the bright lights. He lets his vision blur and his mind wander.

“Stiles.” He blinks, focuses his eyes and looks at Deaton. “All patched up.”

“Thanks Doc,” Stiles sighs, exhaustion pulling at the edges of him, fraying his mind. “I don’t have a concussion or anything, do I?”

Deaton shakes his head, wiping his hands on a white cloth.

“Can I... can I just close my eyes for a little bit?”

“Certainly,” is Deaton’s gentle reply.

The lights switch off and Stiles sighs as a light sheet is settled over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> \- Stiles is kidnapped by the Big Bad - she tells him she's going to eat him, digs into the wounds she already made, and scratches him down his whole right side  
> \- Stiles finds out that his friends have been lying to him and has some (totally understandable) feelings of betrayal
> 
> Let me know what you think. :)
> 
> Please remember: I am not done revising the later chapters of the story. I currently work two jobs and have a very busy personal life so I am not sure when I will finish, only that I will finish it eventually.
> 
> Also: I've left the old chapters "up" still since I don't want to lose the comments, but they are empty of content for the time being.
> 
> Next chapter will be up soon.
> 
> kisskiss  
> ♡ Scotch


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there, sweet babbies!
> 
> Hope you all had a good weekend and that Monday isn't kicking your butts too hard. Here's a little treat for ya - chapter 7! :D
> 
> Please excuse any mistakes.
> 
> Enjoy!

_Red eyes and teeth, too many teeth._

_Erica snarling, her face twisted and wrong, swiping at Stiles._

_He’s bleeding and Laura just stares at him as the woman with the red eyes takes bites out of Stiles over and over and over and…_

Stiles opens his eyes and shoots upright. He loses his breath as every nerve-ending in his body shrieks a protest. He freezes, closing his eyes and trying to make his heart stop pounding.

When he’s calm enough to breathe easier, he sits up and dangles his legs off the table, palms pressed to the metal edge. He catalogues where things hurt the worst: forearm, bicep, chest to hip, and head.

He’s also covered in a faint dusting of bruises, though his road rash isn’t any worse, so, you know, small blessings.

He snorts and makes himself drop to the floor, wincing at the cold tile on his bare feet. His ankle barely hurts now and he almost walks normally to the bathroom. He relieves himself and washes his hands, taking a chance and glancing up at his reflection.

It’s a mistake. He looks like hell and is bruised just like he figured, but it’s the weird light in his eyes and the pinched turn of his mouth that make him drop his gaze and shuffle out of the room quickly.

Betrayal doesn’t look good on anyone.

When he gets back to the table, he snags the folded pair of green scrub pants from the end and shakes them out, ready to pull them over his boxers. When he bends down, he freezes again, reminded by his skin pulling unpleasantly that he’s got too many stitches for this shit.

Sighing, he sits and gingerly manages to get the pants on, feeling accomplished as he ties the laces around his hips, even though he’s breathing a little hard and his whole side hurts.

Deaton appears as he’s staring at the scrub top and wondering if it’s worth the trouble to put it on.

The vet looks Stiles over as he moves toward the sink. “Good to see you up and around, though you should probably rest more.”

“If I get any more ‘rest’ like that, I’ll end up locked up in Eichen House,” Stiles informs him.

“I would avoid Eichen House, if I were you,” Deaton tells him as he washes his hands. “There are a great many unpleasant things housed there.”

Stiles stares at the vet, mind racing to connect this unflappable man to the things he’s witnessed in the past however-many hours.

Stiles finally says, “So you know about all the weird shit going on. You’ve known for a while.”

Deaton dries his hands and walks forward. “Those statements are worded like questions but not actually asked,” he muses.

Stiles huffs a laugh. “Yeah, my publisher gripes about it all the time.” He taps his fingers against the table. “I’ll try again: do you know what’s going on?”

“Yes.” Deaton approaches the table and sits on the rolling stool.

“You’ve known for a while?”

Deaton gives a small smile as he pulls over a small work table covered in bandages. “I’ve been informed of a great many things going on in this town for a long time.”

Stiles complies when Deaton motions for him to lie back, staring at the ceiling as his bandages are removed and thinking over the vet’s statement. He only winces a little as his injuries are cleaned and bandaged again.

“All done,” Deaton says as he leans back, tossing the soiled stuff into a bag and peeling off his gloves. “Is there someone you’d like for me to call to bring you home?”

Stiles thinks about it and has a flashback to the conversation he had with Derek in his kitchen. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he goes down his small list of people and realizes he has no one to call unless he feels like explaining all this shit to his dad or Melissa. Though he isn’t sure what he would say since he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on either.

He laughs. Because, well, it’s just how he is, and waves away Deaton’s raised eyebrow. “Sorry, I just, uh, laugh at inappropriate times. I don’t really know who to call because I don’t know what I’d say about all this.” He gestures to himself then to the air around him.

Deaton nods. “Perhaps you could site your previous wounds.”

Stiles makes a thoughtful sound. Yeah, it could work, but he’d also have to explain why he was at the vet clinic barefoot, without his phone or wallet, and looking like he’d been pummeled.

“Maybe not my dad,” Stiles surmises. “I don’t really know what I would say and he’d see through anything I’d make up.” He laughs again. “Hell, _I_ don’t even know the truth so how would I lie?”

Deaton’s smile shifts just a bit from the calm one Stiles is used to seeing. It reminds him a bit of the smile Parrish gave him when he’d been questioned: _I know something you don’t know._

“Would you like to know the truth?” the vet asks.

Stiles studies him. “Are you allowed to tell me anything? Don’t I have to like, go through initiation or something first?”

Deaton flicks his eyes at Stiles’ injuries and says, “I think you’ve had your own sort of initiation.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows, nodding a bit. “Okay, I’ll bite. What the hell where those things that took me?”

“Aswangs,” Deaton says simply, as if that garbled word means something.

Stiles blinks. “Uh…”

“That’s what you were taken by,” Deaton explains, then throws it off again with, “a pair of aswangs.”

“Is… is that supposed to make sense to me?” Stiles asks, feeling like he’s having a conversation with the weird guy in the abandoned building again.

Deaton holds up a finger then disappears into his office. He returns with a medium sized book and hands it to Stiles. “This book has information about aswangs.”

Stiles turns the book over in his hands, noting the cover is inked with a depiction of a sprawling old tree, branches covered with tiny, detailed leaves. There’s nothing written on the back, no description or summary. It looks like a journal.

“What is this?” he asks.

Deaton’s smile is slightly sly again as he says, “You could say it’s a collection of knowledge about all sorts of interesting things.”

Stiles mulls that over, glancing down at the book again. “The, uh… aswang. The dude, he said something. About me and a Spark.” Stiles taps the book. “That I was a Spark, or have one or something.”

“A Spark can be multiple things,” Deaton explains. “It can simply be energy, the kind that fuels spells or different wards or even what makes certain preternatural creatures what they are. But a person who _is_ a Spark, they possess that energy within them.” Deaton holds his hand up. “May I?”

“I have no idea what you’re asking to do,” Stiles admits, mind still half-caught on the words _preternatural creatures_.

Deaton explains, “I’m going to check your energy levels, but I won’t have to touch you. It’s merely polite to ask before you go digging around in someone else’s energy.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Stiles mutters before shrugging. “Sure, Doc, take a look.”

Deaton holds his hand over Stiles’, not touching like he promised, just moving his hand back and forth for a moment. “The aswang was correct. You do have quite a Spark.” Deaton peers at Stiles for a moment, brow furrowed in thought. “Curious that no one has noticed before.”

Stiles swallows nervously, shrugging again. “I’ve never done anything weird, like made stuff float or explode or anything.” He remembers how obsessed he used to be after watching _Matilda_ when he was little. “I tried to move things with my mind all the time as a kid and it never worked.”

“Humans often need to be taught to use their Spark. It’s not so much innate magical talent as it is the potential for _more_.”

Stiles mulls this over. _Magic, huh, interesting_. “She, ah, also said that my landlady is a witch.”

Deaton chuckles lowly. “Sarah Stein is an interesting woman, to be sure. But that’s something you should speak to _her_ about, not me.”

Stiles nods, clearly getting that this round of Q&A is over. “Is there any way that I could go home without having to call my dad?”

After a moment, Deaton nods. “You’ll need to be sure to change your bandages regularly and make sure you take it easy so you don’t pull out your stitches.” He picks up a prescription bottle from a shelf by the sink and hands it to Stiles. “Take one of these every six hours.”

Stiles examines the bottle, rattling the bluish-gray pills curiously. “What are they?”

Deaton ignores the questions and continues, “Drink plenty of water and sleep as much as you’re able to.”

“Yeah, I’ll do my best,” Stiles sighs, already imagining how much worse his dreams are going to be now that his mind has more horror fuel to play with.

Deaton nods like he knows what Stiles is thinking and says, “I’ll drive you home, if you’d like.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

Deaton holds up the scrub top for him so that he can slip his arms through without having to bend too much and nods his head toward the door.

They walk through the clinic and out the front door into a breezy afternoon. It’s nice out, Stiles notices, as they walk toward a nondescript SUV. The drive to Stiles’ house is quiet, Deaton his usual stoic self and Stiles mulling over what the vet’s told him.

After Stiles climbs out of the car and steps gingerly onto the pavement of his driveway, he turns to thank Deaton again and finds the vet holding the book out to him.

“Oh, uh, thanks.” Stiles takes it and can’t remember if he saw Deaton pick the book up before they left the clinic.

Instead of _you’re welcome_ or something like that, Deaton hums, squints into the distance, and says, “Werewolves.”

Stiles almost drops the book. “What did you just say?”

“Werewolves,” Deaton repeats, then gives Stiles another secretive look. “Kind of makes sense, doesn’t it?”

Before Stiles can reply, Deaton’s leaning back and rolling up the window as he pulls down the driveway.

Stiles watches the vet drive away, waiting until he’s turned the corner before taking a deep breath and picking carefully around to the back of the house. He’s not sure if he should be happy or weirded out that the door’s unlocked, but he guesses it doesn’t matter since the baddies have been taken care of.

He shudders, trying to keep from remembering too clearly, and investigates the house slowly, checking for anyone or anything that doesn’t belong.

When he’s satisfied that the house is empty, he crawls into bed and passes out, hopeful that the dreams will hold off for a little while.

\-----

Stiles wakes up multiple times throughout the evening, mind racing and muscles tight, convinced that there’s someone in the room with him. Each time, he reassures himself that he’s alone and falls back to sleep.

When he wakes up all the way, it’s dark outside his windows, the room cast in shadows from the light of the waning moon peering in. He scowls at the moon and makes himself get up, even though he isn’t sure he really wants to.

Shucking the scrubs and pulling on his second favorite pair of gym shorts, he forgoes a shirt and inspects himself in the mirror.

As long as he wears long sleeves, which will suck since it’s not exactly cool outside during the day, he can hide all of his new injuries pretty well.

“It’s not like you’ll be going out much though.” He sighs, thinking about the fact that he’s likely unemployed now as well as being almost friendless.

“Stupid lying assholes,” he mutters, grabbing the strange medicine bottle and inspecting one of the pills.

After a moment, he shrugs, popping it in his mouth and washing it down with some water from the sink. He trusts Deaton, mostly, so the pill will likely help.

He decides to leave the bandages where they are for the time being and heads downstairs, picking up his phone off the kitchen table and rolling his eyes at how many texts and notifications he has waiting for him.

The ones from his dad, Scott, and the family group chat get answered quickly with the customary _I was writing and didn’t notice that my phone died_ text, though this is one of the only times it hasn’t been the truth.

The other texts are from his best friend from college and he grins, realizing she’s going to be in California soon. He sends back a bunch of hearts and smiley faces, happy that he’ll get to see her soon.

The rest of the notifications are for Instagram and various emails that he can deal with tomorrow.

Business taken care of, he slips his phone into his pocket. He notices the book that Deaton gave him sitting on the counter near the door and reaches out to pick it up.

_Werewolves. Makes sense, doesn’t it?_

Stiles sighs and rubs his face before grabbing some cereal from the top of the fridge and sitting gingerly at the kitchen table. He opens the book where a thick bookmark is sticking out, revealing a remarkably detailed drawing of an aswang that’s a little too familiar to Stiles.

“Ugh,” he groans, turning to the text instead.

_Aswang stories vary greatly from region to region and person to person._

_The term Aswang refers specifically to a ghoulish shape-shifter. It is widely speculated to be a combination of a vampire and a witch. Sometimes this creature is called simply the "bal-bal" or ghoul._

_Stories recount aswangs living as regular townspeople. As such, they are quiet, shy and elusive.*_

_*_ _1979 They_   _are_   _too shy_   _and_   _too quiet_   _. It will catch your attention._

_At night, they transform into creatures such as a bat, boar, or most often, a large dog.* All the shapes can be recognized as an aswang by the luminescent red eyes and black sclera. They are fast, silent, and skilled hunters._

_*1993 They share the appearance of a werewolf in their canine or “full-shift” form – be aware of the difference. One can be reasoned with. The other will just eat you._

_They enjoy eating unborn fetuses and small children, favoring livers and hearts. Some have long proboscises, which they use to suck the children out of their mothers' wombs when they are sleeping in their homes.*_

_*_ _1922 Nasty buggers. Avoid if possible, kill quickly if not._

_Aswangs have the ability to appear human, physically. Aswangs can also talk and feel like any normal human being: happiness, anger, want._

_It has been said that if an aswang married a human, upon their wedding, their mate would become an aswang as well. These pairings rarely reproduce as keeping the fetus alive full-term becomes difficult without increased consumption of live flesh which may lead to their discovery and death. No one is sure how long the gestation period is for an aswang._

_The couple may hunt together at night but will often go in separate directions, either to avoid detection or because they do not like to share their meal._

_These creatures are not harmed by sunlight. They are daywalkers like the majority of shapeshifters._

Stiles stops as the information shifts into how to kill an aswang. That part of the problem’s already been solved, after all.

He wonders about the handwritten notes and runs his finger along the sides of the pages. The paper varies in color and texture and it’s clear that this book has been rebound multiple times.

Flipping to the front of the book, he runs his fingers over the tree before opening the cover and encountering a handwritten inscription.

_Virtus, fortitudo et misericordia._

Stiles squints at the words, Latin he thinks, and pulls out his phone to look up a translator.

_Virtue, courage, and compassion._

He taps his fingers against the table, mulling over the choice of words.

Turning the page, he finds a hand-written list of names, starting with James Donaldson. Next to his name are an E and a swirly symbol. He runs his finger down the list, noting that some of the names have the E, some don’t, and some have the swirly symbol and some don’t.

When he gets to the third page of names, he reaches the end and freezes.

_Alexandra Myers Hale_

The symbols are both by her name and Deaton may have given him the book to borrow, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s reading a book whose owner died in a terrible fire.

Curiously, he closes the book and checks all over for damage, either by fire or water or whatever, but it’s really quite perfect, other than the multicolored pages.

Starting at the beginning again, he flips through the first couple of pages and finds the table of contents.

If he didn’t know that this… _stuff_ was real, he could have easily picked up this book and flipped through it at a store and never thought it was more than a kitschy joke. But now…

There’s apparently an entire section on tinctures for health, wards to lay around your home, and a whole index of plants and what they can be used for. There’s also a whole chunk of the book dedicated to preternatural creatures.

He thoughtfully eyes the section labeled _Shapeshifters_ and it sort of feels like the subsection labeled _Werewolf_ is taunting him but he keeps himself from flipping to it, if only just.

He manages to wait until nine that morning to call Deaton’s office, though it’s another act of extreme willpower. He wastes time by cleaning up his kitchen and doing a few loads of laundry that have been sitting for a while.

When Stiles finally calls, Deaton picks up on the second ring with a bland, but friendly, “Beacon Hills Veterinary Hospital. How may I help you?”

Stiles takes a deep breath. “Hey Doc, it’s Stiles.”

“Mr. Stilinski. Feeling better?”

“Ah,” Stiles falters, jarred from his determined and rehearsed speech. He shrugs then winces. He probably needs another dose of whatever the fuck the vet gave him along with his other meds. “Pretty good, I guess.”

There’s silence on the line for a moment.

“Is there something I can do for you, Stiles?” Deaton’s voice is as nonchalant as always, but it holds a slight note of curiosity.

“I want to learn more about this stuff.” He takes a deep breath. “I… I _need_ to learn more.”

The vet hums then simply says, “Read the whole book and then come see me.”

Then he hangs up.

Stiles pulls his phone back and stares at it. “Enigmatic doesn’t have to mean rude, Doc,” he chides to the dial tone.

Setting the phone on the counter, he stares into the trees through the kitchen window, letting thoughts percolate through his mind. He’s beyond exhausted, he finally decides, and goes back upstairs to sleep for a while.

He wakes up suddenly a few hours later, red eyes and long claws flashing through his head.

He blinks at the ceiling, hand pressed to the undamaged side of his chest as his heart pounds. He makes himself draw a deep breath, counts to eight, and lets it out. He does it again and again until he’s not able to feel his heartbeat against his palm anymore.

Rubbing at his eyes, he checks his phone and sees he hasn’t slept long, but he makes himself get up since he’s apparently got reading to do before Deaton will talk to him.

After going to the bathroom and popping one of the weird blue pills from Deaton and his other meds, he takes a very careful shower, scrubbing the dirt from his feet and legs and carefully cleaning around his new injuries.

When he’s done, he puts on new bandages, grimacing at the weird puckered look of his wounds. He has to break out a new ace bandage since the other one is gone, presumably thrown away.

Though he feels a little better physically, he lets the shitty mood that’s hovering at the edges of his mind overtake him. He puts on gym shorts and a hoodie because, despite how painful it is to raise his arms and how warm it probably is outside, he wants his comfy clothes.

On his way down the stairs, he flicks the thermostat to sixty-seven to ensure he stays comfy. His phone vibrates in his pocket but he ignores it for the time being, too focused on eating something to bother with it.

When he does check, it’s a message from Scott asking if he’s less bored now.

Stiles stares at his phone for a minute, wondering if Scott _knows_ somehow.

He rubs his hand over his face, sighing. There’s no way Scott could possibly know a fraction of the nonsense that he’s dealing with right now. He types out something that he hopes sounds reasonably normal.

He figures he should check the mail, since it’s been a few days and something may have arrived for Sarah. Stiles wonders if she gets her witchy things delivered to the house, even though she’s only ever gotten letters and bills, and chuckles to himself as he heads outside.

When he opens the door, he sees clear plastic containers that look suspiciously similar to the ones already in his fridge sitting on the front stoop. They look like they’re full of pastries and meat and veggies.

Frowning, he steps around them and makes his way to the mailbox, takes the few little things in it – mostly ad pages for local supermarkets and pizza places – no itchy witchy packages sadly, and heads back. He stops in front of the containers and sighs, nudging them aside with his bare foot, before walking back inside and shutting the door.

He leans against the door and sighs again.

He’s not sure how to feel, emotions all mixed up with the pain and memories from that night and wow, has it really only been about forty-eight hours ago that he got snatched up from his backyard?

It makes him shake to think about it and he locks the door behind him, making his way to the back door to be sure that it’s locked too. He doesn’t see anything in the backyard or in the tree line.

 _But that doesn’t mean nothing’s there_.

He shudders and turns on the light in the kitchen, even though the sun isn’t even close to setting.

Sitting down at the table, he pulls a bag of cookies over and digs in, opening the old book and flicking through the pages.

Stiles reads for a long time.

There’s so much information, in the text and in the – sometimes hilarious, sometimes harsh, sometimes heartbreaking – handwritten side notes, that he’s sure he’s not retaining all of it.

The people who had accumulated the knowledge over the years had been very detailed on certain things and left other things completely vague - intentionally or ignorantly, Stiles isn’t sure.

Regardless, his eyes are certainly being opened.

He wants to add his own notes to the end of the aswang section, citing that sometimes their victims consist of elderly or physically weaker people but he holds off since it’s technically not his book.

He jots the notes down on a piece of notebook paper and sticks it in between the pages though, just in case someone needs the information later.

He’s very actively avoiding the werewolf section, even though he knows he should have probably read it first, after the aswang section.

Around ten, he takes a bathroom break and he grabs his phone on his way back through the living room.

**_From Dad:_ **

**_Gotten a chance to look any of that stuff over yet?_ **

Stiles lies and says he hasn’t found anything that makes sense. Sending the message makes him feel like a terrible person and a shitty son.

But what on earth is he supposed to tell his dad?

“Well, Dad, there’s nothing to worry about anymore. The local werewolf pack took care of the evil vampire ghouls that were killing people!” he says to the message thread. “Oh, how do I know that?” He throws his hand in the air. “Funny you should ask! I was kidnapped and almost eaten alive by the self-same monsters! It was a blast!”

All in all, Stiles thinks it wouldn’t go over very well.

Also, he should probably not talk to himself.

**_From Dad:_ **

**_Alright love you kid_ **

He makes a disgusted sound because the message just makes him feel worse.

When his phone buzzes again, he mutters, “Great, something else to make me feel like a bad son.”

He raises his eyebrows when he opens the message.

**_From _Catwoman:__ **

_**I’m sorry.** _

Stiles stares at the screen until the words get blurry and his hand starts to shake from where he’s holding his phone too tightly. He waits for his eyes to clear and puts his phone down with a click, trying to contain the frustration soaring through him. He locks his phone, not replying.

It starts raining a little while after that, lightning flashing and thunder rumbling loudly. Stiles shivers and tries to keep reading but he’s too distracted, heart in his throat as he thinks about the last rainstorm that rolled through town.

He doesn’t sleep more than a couple hours before waking up again, reaching for a warm form that should be next to him but isn’t.

Stiles decides, while lying in bed wide-awake, sick to his stomach with missing something that was never his, to actively give himself some time alone. Time to heal and to read and to figure out what the fuck his life has become.

God, he aches all over, too.

So, yes, take some time to get his shit together, perfect.

He knows it’s a good idea almost immediately when the vibration of his phone makes him jump. He regrets picking up his phone when he sees the message.

**_From _Catwoman:__ **

_**I couldn’t tell you. I wanted to but I couldn’t. It wasn’t just my story to share.** _

He knows she’s not going to give up. She’s always had dogged determination and he huffs a laugh at the thought, despite everything else. He goes to toss his phone onto the bed but another message pings through.

**_From _Catwoman:__ **

_**Come on, Batman. Please let me explain.** _

He shoves the phone under a pillow and blows out a breath, not wanting her to use his nickname and not wanting to hear anything she has to say right now.

He’s an expert at running away from difficult situations so he just leaves his phone there and grabs the book from the bedside table, reading up on the uses of lavender in teas and other mixes.

 -----

_Derek isn’t sure he’ll ever be dry again at the rate the rain is falling._

_He sits, tucked out of the worst of the weather at least, under a clutch of trees and looks at the back of Stiles’ house, making sure that nothing is amiss._

_He knows Stiles doesn’t want him there, but he also knows that sometimes, the world can be cruel – clearly – and he’s not going to let something_  else  _happen to Stiles just because the other man is stubborn._

_And besides, it’s not like he’s watching or looming or anything, just observing. Checking in._

_A part of him wishes he could go up onto the porch, but he knows he can’t._

_He knows he fucked up by keeping everything a secret, they all did, and they didn’t have to tell Stiles everything, but they could have at least made more certain that he was safe, especially since the monsters had shown interest in Stiles initially._

_So yeah, he fucked up and he doesn’t have the right to go into the house, not anymore, not that he really did as himself, only as Shadow._

_But, there for a minute, it seemed like he and Stiles were getting somewhere, in person, maybe as friends._

_And, well, it’s true that Derek understands the feeling of betrayal better than most people – at least this time, the only ones that ended up dead were the ones killing people, so he supposes it definitely could have been worse._

_Satisfied that everything seems fine, he ducks back into the rain and heads to his cabin._

\-----

Around ten in the morning the next day, Stiles is standing in the kitchen, staring out the window as he eats cold takeout noodles with his fingers.

The storm still hasn’t let up and though the sun is supposed to be up high by now, the sky is still dark with fat gray clouds. He has a brief thought as lightning flashes, hoping that Shadow isn’t out in the rain again.

Reality hits him like a kick in the gut and he drops the white box onto the counter. He takes a deep breath, then another, as he leans against the sink.

Shadow is  _not_  a dog. Shadow is  _Derek._  

And _Derek_ is a lying asshole who let Stiles talk to him as a dog without giving _any_ indication that he was more than what he appeared aside from an extremely expressive face.

That’s not even adding the time that Derek spent coming over and cooking and cleaning for Stiles and texting him and well…

Erica is also an asshole. Isaac, Cora, Boyd, Laura? Yeah, all assholes. And now he knows that Laura is an Alpha Asshole, which sort of makes him feel a little better.

He frowns, thinking how the whole werewolf thing makes everything make a lot more sense, oddly enough. If he knew then what he knows now… well, they say hindsight is 20/20 for a reason.

Stiles angrily tosses the empty box into the trash and washes his hands before he heads back into the living room and looks at the book sitting on the coffee table.

Deaton had told him to read it,  _all of it_ , and then come see him.

If Stiles wants to know how to control his Spark, how to be able to shape the world around him and maybe help people, he’s got to read the whole book.

Frustrated and more than a little upset, he leaves the book on the table, intending to sleep a little more before he reads anything about what kind of shapeshifters he’s apparently been hanging out with for the past month and a half.

He goes upstairs, whines while he changes his bandages even though it’s not as painful as the time before, takes his weird pill, and crawls into bed.

When he wakes up from a nightmare after - he checks his phone and groans at the time - only two hours of sleep, he guesses it’s a sign that he better suck it up and get to it.

He grumpily plods downstairs, throws himself - as gingerly as possible - onto the couch, and grabs up the book. He takes a deep breath to calm down, trying not to go into it angry.

Still, while he reads, he gets angrier, angrier at the pack of werewolves, yes, but also at himself, which is not something that he enjoys.

After a while the anger is just tiring and he falls asleep, book open on his chest. He wakes up after a while and keeps reading.

The section on werewolves is extensive, far more so than any of the sections on the other supernatural creatures, and he soaks it up the best he can, though he knows that some of it is going to require a re-read or two.

His stomach growls about forty-five minutes into reading. He decides to make a sandwich and he feels better once he slaps all the ingredients together and takes a huge bite.  

His gaze is jerked to the kitchen window, seeing a flash of motion in the trees. He stops walking and stands there chewing. On a hunch, he goes to the front door and checks outside.

Sure enough, there sits three new containers, blue plastic this time. He looks down at them and remembers something he literally  _just_  read before he got up.

_When a member of the pack is injured or sick or even emotionally unwell, some pack members are filled with the urge to feed their ill pack mate in order to comfort them and help restore their strength._

He thinks back to the entire shift he worked with Cora after the aswangs’ first victim when she kept making him food and drinks.

He huffs, the tiniest bit amused at how secretly affectionate she is but he tamps it down and leaves the containers where they are, closing and locking the door.

He finishes his sandwich, grabs some crackers – since he ate all the damn cookies – and settles on the couch with the book again.

\-----

_Derek watches as Cora slips past the cabin, hood pulled up on her raincoat and blue Tupperware containers in her hands, and waits with his chair facing the doorway._

_A little while later, Cora reappears, head down as she walks, clearly bummed out as she holds a different set of containers._

_Derek gives a soft whistle and she turns her head. She changes her path, moving toward him and climbing the stairs._

_“You can’t make him eat what you bring him,” he tells her. “He’s pissed off at all of us.”_

_“I know,” she grumbles, the set of her chin mulish as water drips down her cheeks. “And he’s mostly pissed at you and Erica,” she informs him, pushing back her hood._

_Derek sighs, tamping down his temper since it’s not like she’s wrong, and nods._

_Cora takes a deep breath and announces, “But I’m not going to stop.” She eyes him, mouth curling down on one side. “And I don’t get why you’re just giving up.”_

_“I’m not giving up, Cora.” He rubs his face. “I’m just... not pressuring him." He ignores her annoyed huff and shrugs. "If he wants to have anything to do with us, he will. It’s not like he doesn’t know where we live or work, or have any of our phone numbers,” he tells her._

_“Whatever.” She pulls her hood back up, pausing before she heads out the door. “Isaac’s cooking stew. It’ll be ready soon.”_

_“Okay.”_

_He watches her leave and wonders if he’ll always picture that stubborn face from when she was eight and wouldn’t eat her carrots._

_He tries not to think about Stiles at all._

_Mostly, it works._

\-----

Three days later, the storm has finally broken.

Stiles gingerly rubs a towel over his head as he looks out the window in his room, noting the giant puddles in the backyard and thinking about splashing around his yard with Scott when he was little.

After getting dressed and taking his meds, he studies his reflection and decides he doesn’t look _too_ terrible, just a little shabby with his patchy skin, bruises, and hunched posture.

He snags the book as he goes by the coffee table on his way out, shoving it into a messenger bag as he steps out onto the porch. Pulling the door closed behind him, he glances down.

There’s another set of containers on the porch – light gold this time, with little holly leaves and berries on them so they’re most likely a holiday set – and he looks off into the trees, wondering if anyone is out there.

“Stubborn,” he chides lowly, just in case there is someone out there, before making his way to his Jeep.

“Oh my sweet baby, I’m sorry I haven’t driven you more,” he croons, starting it up and rolling down the window awkwardly with his right hand. He drives carefully, actually under the speed limit since he has to be careful of his left arm and his right side.

By the time he gets to the vet clinic, he thinks he should have thought about calling ahead. He gets out of the Jeep because his chest needs a break from the seat belt anyways and ambles over to the doors.

The sign says _Closed_ but Stiles can see a light on through the door to the back room so he tries the door. It opens easily under his hands and he gives it a suspicious look.

The gate leading to the back almost feels as if it flies from under his hand as it opens.  _Huh, weird._  He knocks his knuckles against the doorway, peeking in.

Deaton looks up at him, seemingly unperturbed at the intrusion, small smile on his face.

“Good morning Mr. Stilinski,” Deaton says, wiping his hands as he finishes washing something in the sink. “Good to see you up and about.”

Stiles smiles back at him. “Yeah, it’s good to be able to be up.” He fiddles with the zipper on his bag. “So, ah, I wanted to thank you.”

Deaton raises an eyebrow, leaning against the counter. “For what?”

“For patching me up, first of all.” Stiles pulls the book from his bag and holds it up. “And for this, for making me feel less crazy. It really helped.”

“I’m glad I could be of assistance.” The vet motions for Stiles to follow him and goes into his office, settling behind his desk. “So, you read the whole book.”

It’s not really a question but Stiles nods anyway as he settles into the chair in front of the desk, fingers tapping a beat on the arm rests. “I did.”

“ _Virtus, fortitudo et misericordia_ ,” Deaton recites.

“Virtue, courage, and compassion,” Stiles translates with a small nod.

“What did you think of what you read?” Deaton’s face is a pleasant mask and it’s a little unnerving.

“I think,” Stiles says, licking his lips and choosing his words carefully, “I think that I’d like to know more. There are some things in the book that are a little vague to me. They mention things that I guess I’m already supposed to know, if I got training as a kid like I should have?”

Deaton nods. “I can teach you what you need to know.” He gives Stiles a deep look. “But, you must understand, there are some things you should know about my willingness to teach you.”

Stiles bites his lip. He suspected the lessons would have a price of some sort. “Okay.” He sits up a little straighter. “What are your conditions?”

“You will follow my directions.” Deaton gives him a look and Stiles remembers the firm face oft directed at him as a teenager. “You will not skip ahead in your lessons. You will do your best to use your gifts for good, though I understand that situations sometimes render the idea of Good versus Bad moot. You will do your best to maintain an open mind."

Deaton lets this sink in for a moment before asking, "Are we clear?”

Stiles nods and clasps the book tighter, feeling oddly hopeful. He feels a tiny thrum through his fingertips, like the book is answering his hold, almost like it's reassuring him. He stares down at it, a smile pulling at his mouth. 

“Yeah, we’re clear,” he replies. “It’s a deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think. :)
> 
> Please remember: I am not done revising the later chapters of the story. I currently work two jobs and have a very busy personal life so I am not sure when I will finish, only that I will finish it eventually.
> 
> Also: I've left the old chapters "up" still since I don't want to lose the comments, but they are empty of content for the time being.
> 
> Next chapter will be up soon.
> 
> kisskiss  
> ♡ Scotch


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello babbies!
> 
> So, I usually update on Mondays, but things have been bananas this week, so you get a new chapter on Wednesday - YAY! :p
> 
> I want to give a huge thank you to all of you that have read, left kudos, and comments. It's so good to know that people are still interested in this fic even through all the revisions and the changes.
> 
> Love love love you! ♡♡♡♡♡
> 
> Hope you like the chapter & please excuse any mistakes. :)

Stiles’ first lesson starts after the vet office closes on Monday. He gets there at seven, just as Deaton is finishing up speaking to a young guy petting a drowsy puppy with a cast on its leg.

The guy smiles politely at Stiles then does a double take, cheeks flaring with a blush before his gaze drops to his feet.

Stiles glances down at himself as he moves toward the other end of the counter, wondering if he spilled his Thai food on himself or left his fly undone. Nothing seems amiss with his sneakers, cargo shorts, and faded-into-butter-softness maroon Beacon Hills lacrosse t-shirt.

He glances back at the guy, head tilted slightly as he tries to understand why he’s reacting so strangely.

“Adam?” Deaton asks, making the guy jump and look up. “Be sure that Dina doesn’t jump onto or off of anything. She needs to keep as much weight off her foot as possible.” Deaton closes a folder and holds out an appointment card. “I’ll see you again in two weeks unless there’s an emergency.”

Adam nods, eyeing Stiles from the corner of his eye as he takes the card and tucks it away before gently scooping up his dog.

Stiles doesn’t know what’s up, so he waits, leaning against the gate that leads to the back, hands in his pockets.

Adam clears his throat and makes his way to the door, stumbling a bit on the threshold. He rights himself and practically flees into the parking lot.

Stiles looks at Deaton, who appears to be waiting for Stiles to ask, so he points out the window. “What the hell was all that about?”

Deaton’s mouth quirks and he beckons Stiles behind the counter. “One of the things about a newly awakened Spark is that, compared to some gifts, it has certain peculiarities before it settles.”

Stiles wrinkles his nose. “I’m not sure I like the sound of ‘peculiarities’ to be honest, Doc.”

The vet nods. “I can see how you might be leery to hear that.” He gestures toward a work station covered in random detritus. “Though for you, it seems as if you are amplifying the nature of the beings around you.”

“So I’m a power boost,” Stiles ponders. He squints as he mulls over the thought. “Is it permanent? And why was that kid all freaked out? Did I boost his abilities or something?”

“It should wear off in a couple of days with some focus and training.” Deaton then spoils all the fun with, “And Adam’s secrets are his own, much like your secrets are yours.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow at the vet. “And your secrets are yours.”

Deaton nods, the slight light of mischief back in his eye. “Indeed.”

Stiles tamps down his smile and nods at the stuff on the table. “What’s all that?”

“Your first lesson.”

Stiles glances at him then looks back at the table. “Alright. What do you want me to do?”

“I’d like for you to identify as many of these things as possible,” Deaton tells him, then steps back.

Stiles moves forward, tucking his hands back into his pockets to resist the urge to touch. He’s read enough that he knows better not to just grab whatever is in front of him anymore. He runs his eyes over everything, feeling a little disappointed as he realizes he’s essentially signed up for more school.

“This one,” he points to a clear bottle filled with purple flowers, “is wolfsbane. Or aconite. Or monkshood. It’s highly poisonous to werewolves and can also make humans sick too.” He looks at the next bottle, this one made of cloudy green glass. “I can’t see what’s in this one.” He looks at another one filled with what looks like black sand and various bits of metal and some strange bits of fabric. “And I have no idea what any of that is.”

Deaton is doing something at another counter and clicks his tongue. “You still need to identify the rest.”

Stiles frowns down at the mess. “How? I’m not opening a bottle unless I know what’s inside it and I’m not picking any of this up unless you’ve got gloves or tongs or something.”

Deaton turns around, looking pleased about his adamancy not to touch. “You’re going to use your Spark. Then, if you deem that they’re non-toxic or alright to handle, you’ll tell me the properties of them and what they’re used for.”

“Alright… and how do I do that?” Stiles asks.

“Belief is your biggest tool and can also be your biggest stumbling block,” Deaton explains. “You have to _believe_ that your Spark can make things happen, that your spells will work, otherwise they won’t.”

Stiles shifts a little, pulling his hands out of his pockets. “So I’ve got to… believe in myself?”

“Essentially.”

_Great_. “I’m not always so good at that,” Stiles admits.

Deaton gives him a firm look. “If you can’t make yourself believe then your spells can go awry and have terrible consequences. The door that you try to ward against outsiders could instead become an open portal, pulling all creatures to it, good, bad, or otherwise.”

Stiles swallows hard. “Okay. Teach me  _not_  to do that, please.”

Deaton jerks his head at him, moving back toward the office.

Stiles enters and sees a yoga mat set up in the space next to the desk.

“You need to center yourself, focus on your Spark in order to understand how to use it,” Deaton tells him, taking off his white coat and laying it over a chair.

“Meditation, eh? Cool.” Stiles slowly lowers himself to the floor. He folds his legs and rests his hands on his knees. “Uh, this is about all I got as far as knowing what to do, other than like, deep breaths.”

Deaton huffs, likely wondering what he got himself into with Stiles as a student. He sits in front of Stiles and mirrors his position, ordering, “Close your eyes.”

Stiles complies.

“Take a deep breath. In… and out. Repeat that slowly until you can feel yourself grow relaxed.”

Stiles pulls the breath in slowly, feeling it all the way down in his chest, before he lets it out again. He resists the urge to scratch his leg, bounce his knee, or bite his lip. It takes a lot of thought and he’s not sure if he’s cut out for the _Zen_ of this.

But when Deaton finally asks how he feels, Stiles slurs, “Fine,” before amending it to, “Little fuzzy, yeah.”

“Good.” Deaton sounds less muzzy than Stiles, but his voice is still low and slow. “Direct your vision inward.”

“I don’t… know how.”

“Focus,” Deaton insists. “Picture a light or a star, whatever image works best for you.”

Stiles sighs, but he does as he’s instructed and imagines sinking into his skin, feeling like he can hear the blood flowing through his veins, sense the smudges around his arm and sides from his injuries. He lets himself go deeper and sees the slightest bit of brightness in the dark.

He focuses and is standing in front of a stone bowl sitting on a wooden table that looks suspiciously like the old farm table his mom and dad used to have when he was growing up. The wood feels familiar under his fingertips as he leans forward to peer into the bowl.

It’s filled with embers that are barely glowing and he decides that it doesn’t look like much of a Spark.

He gets the urge to poke at the embers and looks around but there’s nothing there but the bowl and the table. He shrugs and leans forward, blowing a light breath across the bowl. Flames dance up from the bowl, purple and blue and white, rather than orange and red, and he grins.

“Very good, Stiles,” he hears Deaton say softly. “Now, take the flames into your hands.”

“What?” he asks, looking up and around, but he’s alone. He says into the empty air, “Seriously?”

There’s no answer.

He sighs and looks down at his hands, long fingers and bitten nails, and prepares himself before he sticks them right in the flames.

Opening his eyes, he releases the breath locked in his chest.

His skin doesn’t burn, just feels mildly warm, and he turns his hands over in awe for a moment before remembering he’s supposed to be doing something.

He grabs onto the flames and pulls them toward him before he staggers against the table, the wood digging painfully into his hip.

“Just a small amount, Stiles,” comes Deaton’s calm voice.

Stiles lets go of the flames, muttering, “Would have been nice to know that beforehand.”

He pinches his fingers together like he’s picking up a piece of yarn, not really expecting it to work, but sure enough, a thread of flame follows his hand.

“Now you need to fashion yourself a ward mark. Shape the flames into a symbol that means something to you.” Deaton adds, “Remember: belief is everything.”

Stiles thinks about that and takes the thread in his other hand, running his fingers over the line with care as he imagines what he wants it to do.

Briefly, he thinks about the swirly shape from the Emissary book, but he needs something that’s _his_ , not a copy of something.

The end result lies in his left palm when he’s done. He’s twisted the thread of fire into a circle then shaped it into a thin crescent moon, the sharp ends somehow connecting with a dotted line of fire.

“Now, place the ward on yourself.”

“Where?”

“Wherever,” the vet tells him. “It’s your mark. Some people choose to keep them hidden, others make them unable to be overlooked.”

Stiles looks down at himself, contemplating. He looks at his right arm, just above his wrist bone and more along the side than the top.

He presses the fire there, feeling the heat of the flame for the first time, the fire-ward-mark sizzling against his skin with a searing pain. His breath hisses out through his clenched teeth and everything goes dark.

When he opens his eyes, he expects to be staring at the ceiling, not at a proud-looking Deaton who’s got an honest to god full smile on his face.

Stiles blinks at him then looks down at his wrist.

The lines are black with a faint tinge of purple and it looks as if the mark has always been there, no redness or swelling to indicate that it’s been freshly burned into his skin. Honestly, it looks like a tattoo that he’s had for a long time.

“Whoa.”

“Well done,” Deaton says and Stiles looks up at the man. “Your control is commendable, to be able to do something so complicated on your first try.”

Stiles smiles, feeling energized. “Thanks Doc.”

\-----

When Stiles makes a candle explode while he’s trying to light the wick, he’s sure Deaton is rethinking the compliment about control.

The vet just looks at the chunks of wax all over the floor of his office and says, “Put the candle back together.”

It takes Stiles three frustrating and curse word filled hours, but he manages it, though the candle doesn’t look quite like it used to. He’s exhausted by the time he heads for home, pulling the Jeep into the driveway and sitting for a few moments before getting out.

He stumbles up the stairs, fumbles with his keys, and finally makes it into the house, almost tripping over another set of containers. He leans against the door and answers his dad’s text asking about the Fourth of July with a half-hearted promise to see where he is with his writing.

He knows his dad wants him to be at the town celebration but he’s still not healed all the way and he’s still not sure what to say about the case and he’s not sure what to say about _himself_.

He’s so tired that he falls asleep as soon as he sits down on the couch.

\-----

Stiles walks into the clinic for his next lesson without touching any of the doors and he feels like a badass.

His euphoria is quickly dashed when he sees a whole line of empty glass bottles along the work table and multiple piles of different herbs, flowers, and other things. It reminds him of his first lesson and he’s curious.

“Today, you’ll be working on recognizing, properly categorizing, and preparing different materials that you’ll use for spells and remedies,” Deaton announces while inspecting the stitches on a sedated tabby cat.

Stiles grabs the book from his satchel, opening it up and walking over to the table to try and identify what he’s looking at.

Two hours in, when he’s finished grinding the mountain ash into a fine powder – he’s gonna have arm cramps for a week – it won’t go into the bottle.

“Uh, Doc?” He stares at the ash clinging to his fingers and wiggles the digits, trying to dislodge the power, but it clings stubbornly.

“Ah, it seems you’ve made a friend.”

Stiles stares at Deaton. “Are you implying that the ash is sentient?” He holds up the ash-free hand. “You know what, that wouldn’t even be the weirdest thing I’ve learned lately.”

Deaton’s mouth quirks. “No, the ash isn’t sentient, per say. I believe that you may have a stronger affinity with plants and the materials that come from them.” He takes a metal tongue-depressor and runs it along Stiles’ hand.

The ashes fall off, landing half in the grinding bowl and half on the table.

“Make it go into the bottle,” Deaton instructs then steps back to watch.

Stiles struggles at first, muttering and cajoling at the ash under his breath until it quivers and starts to flow into the bottle he’s holding on its side. When it’s all in, he presses a silver lid with a cork onto the top of the bottle.

“Seal it.”

Stiles wonders if he’ll hear Deaton’s smooth voice instructing him every time he uses his Spark as he puts his intent into making the bottle’s seal tight.

“Excellent.” Deaton pats his shoulder before moving back toward the kennels. “Only thirty-two bottles to go.”

Stiles tries to stifle his groan but, judging by Deaton’s chuckle, he doesn’t do a very good job of it.

\-----

It takes him from noon until nine on Saturday to finish the bottles, with a slight disturbance around four when one of the pet owners drops her coffee all over the lobby floor when he walks by her, jumping like she’s been shocked.

When he’s finished cleaning up the coffee and organized the rest of the bottles, he waits as Deaton inspects the contents and the seals. He’s also half-wondering what sort of _Something_ the woman was that she reacted that way.

“Interesting cutting pattern that you used on the witch hazel,” Deaton murmurs, glancing at Stiles.

He nods, brought back to the present. “Yeah, I thought the coarser cut would be easier for chopping or grinding, depending on the need.”

Deaton hums and keeps moving down the line, lifting bottles and looking at the contents. When he reaches the last one, the pesky mountain ash, he smiles and taps his finger against the lid.

“Good job.” He moves the bottles one by one onto a shelf that he pulls from under the table. When it’s full, he moves it into the office, placing it on the top of a cleared table. “These are yours now so be glad you did such good work.”

Stiles huffs a laugh. “They’re for me? Sweet.” He holds out his hand for a fist bump without thinking about it.

“It certainly is,” Deaton says dryly, bumping his fist against Stiles’ with a put upon look.

Stiles takes it for the victory it is and doesn’t try to hide his grin.

\-----

During his next lesson, he tries levitation and he breaks half the bottles on his ingredients shelf when he falls against the table.

It takes him two hours to coax the mountain ash off his skin this time and he still finds some when he gets home.

\-----

It’s a bit of an understatement to say that Stiles “makes a mess” when he tries to wash his supplies without using his hands.

That is, he causes several of the pipes to burst in the back of the clinic and gets caught full in the mouth by a flying faucet handle. He’s got to hand it to Deaton for staying so utterly stoic, though.

The vet just looks at him and walks into the office, emerging to hand him a roll of papers that look suspiciously like blueprints and a handkerchief for his bleeding mouth.

It takes him two days to mend the pipes and more concentration than he’s ever had in his life because metal-working is apparently not his strongest skillset.

After it’s fixed, he goes to the 24-Hour grocery store and the five or six other shoppers stare after him when he passes them. He’s sure he looks like a zombie, pale with dark circles under his eyes and the shambling gait of the exhausted.

When he gets home, he sees red containers sitting on the porch. He looks around and doesn’t see anyone, as usual. He sighs as he steps over them and goes inside, too tired to deal with anything else right then.

\-----

Stiles takes a couple days off after the pipe incident. He writes a lot, which isn’t really restful but it’s easier than his lessons, and naps a lot.

He finds an old USB drive on Thursday when he’s digging through a couple of boxes and plugs it in to his laptop to see what’s on it.

It’s filled with photos: pictures of him, him and his dad, him and Scott, him and Scott and Erica. The picture from their graduation makes his chest hurt as he stares at the smiling faces, notes Erica’s sunken eyes and his dorky shaved head.

He leans back on the couch and stares at his phone for a long time after he goes through all the pictures, writing message after message then deleting them before he can send anything.

After waffling back and forth for almost an hour, he finally figures out what to write.

He’s not up to waiting for a reply so he turns his phone on silent and goes upstairs to pass out.

\-----

_“Stiles smells weird lately,” Isaac announces as he emerges from the laundry room, pulling on one of Boyd’s shirts._

_Derek turns from where he’s staring into the fridge, glancing at Laura to gauge her reaction._

_“And_ why _are we smelling Stiles?” she asks, not bothering to look up from her crossword puzzle._

_“Because…” Isaac inflates his cheeks, searching for an answer. He pops his mouth and shrugs. “Because we’re creepy and have no boundaries?”_

_“_ You _and_ Cora _are creepy,” Derek mutters, grabbing stuff to make a sandwich._

_Laura states, “To be fair, I think the current verdict in Stiles’ mind is that we’re_ all _pretty creepy and have no boundaries.” She taps her foot and hums for a moment. “You really do need to stop leaving him food he’s not gonna eat though. I can’t find a single plastic container.”_

_“The glass ones are better anyway,” Isaac replies flippantly, hopping up onto the counter by Derek. “What do you think? Have you noticed him being weirder than usual?”_

_Derek rolls his eyes and tells the blonde, “I haven’t been there in almost a month so I really wouldn’t know.”_

_Isaac stares at him then narrows his eyes. “You are absolutely no help, I swear.”_

_Derek shrugs, pulling bread from the bag._

_“Ugh,” Isaac gripes, pushing himself back onto his feet. “You guys are boring. I’m going to go bother Cora.”_

_“Don’t break anything,” Laura tells him automatically._

_“Yeah, yeah,” the blonde waves his hand as he walks out._

_When he’s gone, Laura finally lifts her gaze and looks at Derek. She raises her eyebrows at him._

_Derek shrugs again because he’s got no idea what their pack mates are thinking either._

_She snorts softly and resumes working on her puzzle._

_Derek finishes his sandwich and goes up to the library. When he gets there, he sees Erica sprawled upside down on the couch. He nods to her then settles into the armchair, grabbing a traveler’s guide from the table and opening it._

_She watches him silently, big brown eyes tracking his movements as he eats and turns the pages._

_When he finishes his sandwich, he puts the plate on the table and closes the book. He sighs and, though he’s sure he’s going to regret it, asks, “Why are you staring at me?”_

_Instead of answering him, she bites her lip and mumbles, “Can I tell you something?”_

_He’s wary of what she’s going to say but nods anyway._

_“Stiles texted me today,” she declares softly._

_Derek nods, wondering if she’s told anyone else. Just as softly, he asks, “What did he say?”_

_“Starfish.”_

_“Starfish?” Derek echoes, confused._

_Erica rolls her eyes but she’s smiling a little. “Yeah. It’s this whole, like, Code that he made up when we were in high school. ‘Starfish’ basically means that, after a fight, we’re still friends but that he needs more time to figure out how he feels. If he’s ready to forgive me yet.”_

_She laughs when he just raises his eyebrows at her._

_“I know, it’s silly, but it’s actually always been pretty helpful.” She drops her eyebrows and glares at Derek. “If you ever tell him I said that, I’ll punch you.”_

_Derek rolls his eyes. “I don’t think I’ll be talking to Stiles any time soon, Erica.”_

_She hums. “Maybe, maybe not.” Her feet lift from the back of the couch as she rolls and lands in a crouch. She’s almost out the door when Derek clears his throat and she pauses, looking back at him._

_“What did you say back?” he asks, feeling like an idiot when she smiles at him victoriously._

_“I haven’t sent anything back yet,” she tells him. “But you’ll be the first to know when I do.”_

_He glares at her as she saunters from the room and tells himself he doesn’t care anyways._

\-----

On Friday, he wakes up to a new text message.

**_From Catwoman:_**

_**Pineapple.** _

_I got you, loud-and-clear, no questions asked._

He feels the tightness in his chest loosen just a little.

When he walks into the vet’s office that afternoon, Deaton pokes Stiles hard in the arm right after he crosses the threshold.

“Hey!” Stiles jumps back, hand brought up protectively to his injured bicep, glaring at the vet. “What the hell was that for?”

Deaton gives him a judgmental look. “Did it even hurt?”

Stiles opens his mouth to bark out that _of course it did_ but then he freezes. He presses his fingers against his arm and feels, well, nothing, just his fingers pressing against the bandages he's hiding under his flannel shirt.

He drops his bag onto the table and whips his shirt off, pulling the bandage aside and inspecting the skin where several tears and rips should be sewn together with poky black threads.

Instead, he sees that his skin has turned the strange shade of purple-black like his ward. He runs his fingers over the marks, feeling the divots in his flesh, and thinks that it looks a little bit like a splatter paint tattoo.

“What the fuck?” he asks, pressing down.

“I believe that your ward is finally solid.”

“Huh.” Stiles lifts his t-shirt and peels away the bandage on his chest, revealing five remarkably beautiful lines of the same color running down his chest.

“I’m not really complaining about the results but I’m  _really_  confused,” Stiles admits, finally dropping his shirt and looking at his teacher.

“Your Spark is manifesting very quickly. I’ve seen people take months to master what you’ve managed in just a couple of weeks.”

Stiles shrugs. “I fuck up just as much as I don’t.”

“Regardless of your progress, you _are_ still learning," Deaton agrees. "The point I’m trying to make is that your Spark latched onto your pain and your injuries and made them something more. Truthfully, if it wasn’t for your bad experience, would you have ever tried to do anything with your Spark?”

Stiles eyes him, suspicious. “I didn’t even know it existed.”

“Exactly.” He smiles. Before Stiles can ask anything else, he changes the subject. “I hope you have fun with your father and stepmother tonight.”

“What are you talking about?”

Deaton points at the calendar where the days are crossed off until  _July 4 th_. “You’re fully healed and you wanted so badly to spend time with your father. Your Spark won’t always heal you like this but for now, there’s no point in looking a gift horse in the mouth.”

Stiles feels giddy as he pulls his shirt on, grabs his bag, and calls over his shoulder, “See you tomorrow!”

When he calls, his dad picks up on the second ring. “ _Well hey kid. It’s been a while.”_

He smiles. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry about that. But, uh, good news. I’m done working on the big plot thing so I’m free tonight if you still want to be seen with me in public.”

He can hear his dad’s smile.  _“Sounds great. I’ll see you at the station in half an hour?”_

“Sure Dad. Love you.”

_“Love you too.”_

Stiles spends the whole night laughing with his dad and Melissa, who both comment on his new wrist “tattoo”. Melissa loves it, his dad gives him a wrinkled brow which means he’s withholding his opinion. Stiles just rolls his eyes and gives his dad an extra-long hug.

Stiles sees a lot of the people that he’s known his whole life and greets them warmly as the Son of the Sheriff, just like when he was a kid.

What he isn’t prepared for is how many of the people in the town aren’t human. He encounters _fifteen_ people that set off a humming in his senses and he can see that they sense something different about him too. It’s weird and it puts him on edge but everyone seems friendly enough that he’s able to ignore it for the most part.

When the fireworks finally go off, he holds Melissa’s hand and listens to her  _ooh_  and  _ahh_  and she makes silly Mom comments and nudges him in his ribs with her elbow until he relaxes. His dad looks at him over Melissa’s head with happiness shining in his eyes.

 All in all, it’s the best night he’s had in ages.

\-----

The following Thursday, he’s sitting in the back of the vet office, flipping through pages of the book and making notes in his notebook, feeling really good and relaxed.

“Do you understand what an Emissary is, Stiles?” Deaton asks, shattering the silence of the past few hours as he slides into his seat behind the desk.

Stiles frowns, a little confused with the sudden conversation. “Uh, yeah,” he squints his eyes as he tries to call the definition forth, “they’re a link between different groups of, uh, beings, but also between the real world and the spiritual world, right?”

“That’s very close to perfect.” The vet leans forward in his chair. “By now, if you’ve paid any attention to my lessons and your own instincts, you’ll know that Beacon Hills is home to a few different creatures, but predominantly to a pack of werewolves.”

Stiles nods, mulling through his thoughts about that. “Yeah,” he eventually mutters as he wiggles his fingers, making the torn bits of paper from old notes dance in a spiral over the corner of the desk.

“The Hale pack is an old bloodline, one of the oldest established packs in the United States.” Stiles purses his lips but nods for Deaton to continue. “The fire killed a great many of them, their Emissary Alexandra included.”

Stiles raises his eyes to meet Deaton’s before looking down at the book open in front of him. He sees purple writing underneath one of the lines speaking of the uses of witch hazel and runs his fingers along the text. 

_2003 Pro: cleared up my niece’s GIANT HORRIBLE EMBARRASSING stress pimple hours before prom – Con: made her skin smell so weird her date threw up – date_   _did not_   _possess enhanced senses. It was just that bad._

Deaton carries on, “You may not have realized, but I’ve been working as the unofficial Emissary to the Hale pack ever since the fire.”

Stiles shrugs. “It makes sense I guess.”

He taps at the page, telling himself that, really, he already knew that Alexandra wasn’t around anymore, or she’d still have the book with her. After all, her notes span from 1991 until 2004 – the year of the Hale fire. It just sort of hurts, to hear it aloud.

“I’d like for you to take over the position.”

Stiles is shocked, shooting straight up in his chair as the bits of paper flutter freely to the floor. He stares at Deaton. “Are you – I –  _what?_ ”

Deaton’s face is utterly serious. “I want you to be the Hale pack Emissary.” He rubs between his fingers, pinching at scar tissue in the web between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll continue to train you, of course, and be your mentor, but the position should be held by someone young and powerful. It’s always better when a pack’s Emissary is a Spark.”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “And what _are_   _you_ , exactly?”

Deaton gives one of his mysterious smiles. “Not a Spark.”

Stiles knows that’s all he’s gonna get. He huffs and sits back in his seat, biting his knuckle as he thinks. “What would I have to do?”

“You would act as a bridge between the pack and everyone else, like you said. You would be available to help them in emergencies and your strength would strengthen them as well. Naturally, this would mean their protection would extend to you as well.”

Stiles snorts, not really pleased with the track record of the pack’s “protection” so far, though he could have  _actually_  been eaten rather than just  _almost_  eaten.

He clenches his hand, feeling his ward tingle. He feels his Spark thrum through him and thinks  _I can protect myself_ _._

“So what goes into this position transfer?” he finally asks, eyes flicking back to Deaton.

“You would have to formally request a meeting with the Alpha of the Hale pack and put yourself up as a candidate. If the Alpha accepts, you will meet and hash out an agreement on what they would like from you as an Emissary and you, in turn, will inform them of what you would like from them.

“If all parties agree,” Deaton spreads out his hands, “then you become bonded to the pack and them to you.”

Stiles lets himself trance out a little, feeling out the situation with his intuition like he supposed to be practicing.

It feels right in an odd way, like it’s supposed to happen but it’s not the safest course.

He knows Deaton’s right – that he’s never guaranteed safety, likely never will be now – and he almost makes up his mind. But, he knows he needs to think something like this over.

“Can I have a little time to think about it?” he asks.

Deaton nods and says, “Of course. But try not to take too long. The full moon is on Saturday. You’ll need to meet with the Alpha before then.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows. “You couldn’t tell me this a few days ago?”

“A few days ago, your ward mark had finally settled and you got to see how many beings in this town are not quite human. The Emissary to the Hale pack must be someone who is able to recognize others in the town and look out for the wellbeing of _all_ the people living here.”

Stiles squints at him and complains, “I feel like if you’d just tell me things outright, we could solve these issues so much quicker.”

“Would you believe me if I told you some of the things you’ve learned for yourself the past two weeks?” Deaton shoots back.

“That’s… pretty accurate, actually,” Stiles concedes, though he’s not happy about it.

“Don’t think of this as a permanent assignment right away,” Deaton says in a clear attempt to soothe the worry pulling at Stiles’ mouth. “The first month of your association with the pack as an official candidate will be more like a trial period. If at the end of your time, you or the pack does not wish to make your status official, you are free to refuse to be their Emissary and they are free to refuse you.”

Stiles nods and grabs his bag, slipping his notebook and the Emissary book into it. “I’ll let you know.”

Deaton nods and Stiles pretends he doesn’t feel the other man’s contemplative gaze burning into his back as he leaves.

When he gets home, he slumps onto the bench on the back porch and dials Scott, not even caring what time it is or whether or not Scott even answers. After all, he’s no stranger to leaving pathetic messages on Scott’s voicemail.

After several rings and when Stiles has almost given up, the line clicks and there’s a bleary, _“Hello?”_

“I think that I am about to make a _really_ dumb decision,” he says, bypassing a normal greeting, relieved that Scott actually picked up.

Scott chuckles and it turns into a yawn. _“Is it mean for me to say that I’m not really surprised?”_

“Dude, you know I love your honesty, but do you have to be so blunt about it?” Stiles whines.

_“Alright, alright.”_ Scott clears his throat. _“What’s up, bro?”_

“I’m gonna have to be kind of hypothetical because if I told you the truth, you’d never believe me.”

There’s a crash in the background and the sound of people cheering. _“You might be surprised what I’d believe, especially coming from you,”_ Scott laughs. _“But, okay, hypothetical works for me. Shoot.”_

Stiles wants to poke at that, he _does_ , but right this second, he needs to focus. “So, I’ve been sort of apprenticing with this local expert.”

_“What kind of expert?”_

Stiles bites his lips then supplies, “Eclectic information and esoteric items, mostly.”

Scott sighs. _“You know I hate it when you dodge a question by showing off your vocabulary.”_

“It’s who I am, you know this. You befriended this.”

_“Deflect, deflect, deflect,”_ Scott agrees. _“Alright, so, you’re like an intern or something?”_

Stiles tilts his head. “Kind of?”

_“Is it a paid internship?”_

He hums. “Sort of? At this point I’m essentially getting paid in experience and super cool knowledge.”

_“That sounds cool.”_

“Right? And I’m kind of working at the local coffee shop, so I’m not hurting for money or anything.”

_“Stiles, when do you sleep?”_ Scott asks, concern creeping into his voice.

“You know I don’t do that,” he scolds playfully. _Deflect, deflect, deflect_.

Scott accepts that, though he sounds wary as he asks, _“So what’s the part that’s dumb?”_

Stiles takes a deep breath and blows it out. “He’s lined up a job for me, one that would use a lot of my new skills and some of my old ones and, uh, it seems pretty good. I’m just a little nervous.”

_“Real talk, bro,”_ Scott states, _“are you getting recruited for some CIA/FBI kind of thing because that’s pretty nifty but also kind of dangerous?”_

Stiles snorts because, _really_ , only Scott would think he’d make a passable recruit for the FBI. “Dude, I write Fantasy novels and work at a coffee shop. I’m _not_ spy material, a fact that I’m sure you know, logically.”

_“Just checking, man. You never know. Life is crazy.”_

Stiles looks at the ward mark on his wrist and sighs, “Tell me about it.”

_“Look, dude, just, go with your gut,”_ Scott tells him. _“I mean, history of impulsive decisions aside, you’ve got good intuition.”_

Stiles grumbles something that could be an affirmative sound.

_“How about this: Does it feel like the right thing to do?”_

“Yes. It really does.”

_“Then,”_ it sounds like Scott shrugs, _“go for it.”_

Stiles almost feels like he can see the earnest look on Scott’s face, the steady set of his shoulders, the faith in Stiles in his eyes.

“I really miss you, dude,” Stiles admits.

Scott sighs. _“I know. I miss you too.”_

“Alright, alright, I’m gonna let you go before I make you too sad.”

_“It’s cool, man.”_ Scott yawns again before commanding, _“Go make a crazy decision. It’ll all work out one way or another.”_

Stiles smiles. “Thanks, bro. Love you.”

_“I love you too, dude.”_

Stiles drops the phone on his stomach and sighs, scrubbing his hands over his face.

“Food,” he tells himself. “Then decision making.”

Because everyone knows life is easier with grilled cheese sandwiches.

When he sits down to eat, his gaze catches on the Emissary book poking out of his bag.

The book, filled with knowledge so painstakingly collected and recorded, feeds him information on different plants and magic and beings, but the section on werewolves holds more than just facts and figures.

It holds details clearly noted by loved ones and the words chosen to describe them are honest but definitely have a tinge of fondness.

The book -  _his book now_ \- was written by people who loved werewolves, be it as friends, family, or more, and Stiles… well, Stiles loves at least one werewolf and if he’s got the power to help people, shouldn’t his loved ones be at the top of the list?

\-----

Stiles drives back to the clinic that night as the sun goes down. He walks into the vet’s office and finds Deaton at his desk, right where Stiles left him.

Deaton looks up at him, face patient and blank, waiting for him to speak.

Stiles shoves his hands in his pockets and says, “Let’s do this.”

\-----

_The sun is just setting as Derek finishes his run around the perimeter of the territory. It’s close to the full moon and his skin is itchy with the energy flowing through him. He shakes himself off as he leaves the trees and enters the backyard._

_He slips into the house just as Laura and Isaac are getting back from the shop, clattering around the foyer. He snorts at the pungent wave of_ _pack feet_ _that he gets from the giant shoe pile as he trots through the mudroom and into the kitchen. He passes Boyd in the hall, the man dropping his fingers to trail them along Derek’s back as they move by each other._

_Derek sighs when he has to hop over Isaac where the curly haired man is chest down on the floor by the hall bathroom, twiddling his fingers under the door and meowing. Erica is singing something in the bathroom, the water running as she ignores her boyfriend._

_Isaac smiles at Derek and pulls the end of his tail, clearly feeling playful today._

_Derek peels back his lip but doesn’t growl, just smacks Isaac in the face with his tail and continues down the hall to his room. He nudges the door open then shut. Shifting, he stretches his arms wide, then high, before walking into his small in-suite bathroom and showering._

_Thirty minutes later, he’s dried and dressed and feeling better for it. He ambles downstairs barefooted toward the sound of his pack chatting._

_Cora reaches out to him as he passes and he plants a kiss on the top of her head._ _“Breakfast for dinner,” she tells him, folding her legs up in her chair._

_Laura nods at him, sipping a huge mug of coffee, and gestures to the full pot on the counter._

_He snags a cup for himself, loads it up with flavored creamer, and takes a deep sip. He sits in his chair at the table and waits while Boyd starts making plates. Erica enters the kitchen and sinks into the chair next to him, pressing her knee against his._

_They’re all about to dig in when there’s a knock at the front door._

_They all freeze, looking at one another. Erica and Boyd sniff, trying to catch a scent, and Derek focuses on sound, but he can’t hear anyone or anything._

_“I’ll get it,” Isaac announces with faux cheer, rolling his eyes. He trots off and opens the door. They all wait as he closes the door and moves back down the hall. He walks in holding a folded piece of paper. “There was no one there but I found this.”_

_“What is it?” Cora asks, leaning over to try and see._

_Isaac moves it away from her and scolds, “It’s addressed to ‘Alpha Hale’ not ‘Little Sister Hale’.”_

_Cora growls and Isaac sticks his tongue out at her. Laura sighs and holds out her hand, pinching the bridge of her nose. Erica snorts into her orange juice and Derek nudges her leg with his knee._

_Laura cracks the wax seal and reads, face puzzled before it smooths out into blankness._

_“What is it?” Cora asks again, almost wriggling in her seat with the need to know._

_“It’s an official petition to consider a new Emissary candidate,” she says blandly before taking a sip of her coffee._

_“Oh, that’s boring,” Cora huffs before digging into her eggs. “We’ve already got Deaton.”_

_“Do you want me to throw it away?” Isaac asks, since he’s still standing._

_Laura shakes her head and smiles. “No, I think I’ll give him the courtesy of a meeting.”_

_“Ugh, why? Who wants a stuffy warlock or something trying to control us with magic?” Cora complains._

_“Because it’s not going to be a warlock.” Laura raises an eyebrow and holds up the paper. “According to this, it’ll be a Spark.”_

_That shuts Cora up. Her fork droops as she shares a look with Derek and he’s sure she’s thinking of Aunt Alex too._

_“Who is this guy?” Erica asks, rolling up a pancake and dipping it in her egg yolk, ignoring the way Boyd gags at her actions. “Someone local?”_

_“Says his name is_ _Mieczyslaw_ _,” Laura says, stumbling a bit over the name._

_Erica drops her pancake. “Do you mean Mieczyslaw?” she asks with a different pronunciation._

_“I guess that’s the right way to say it,” Laura says with a shrug, squinting at the letter._

_“Who’s Mieczyslaw?” Isaac asks, eyeing Erica for correction._

_She wobbles her hand at him to tell him he mostly got it right but doesn’t answer his question._

_Laura holds the paper out to Boyd instead of answering, shaking it toward him to make him take it. Once her Second takes the note, she wraps her hands around her coffee mug._

_Boyd rolls his eyes before reading aloud. “‘Alpha Hale, this is a formal request for a meeting to interview a potential Emissary candidate. The aspirant,” his eyebrows rise before he continues, “‘Spark Mieczylaw ‘Stiles’ Stilinski wishes to meet with you and two pack members of your choosing at the following address at 7 a.m. on Friday the 10 th’.” Boyd glances down at the address and lets out a soft, “Huh.”_

_When everyone looks at Laura, she hums._   _“Looks like it’s gonna be an interesting day tomorrow,” she says calmly and takes another sip of coffee._

_Erica looks like she’s going to burst, wiggling in her seat. Boyd huffs and starts eating again, dropping the note in the middle of the table. Isaac watches his girlfriend with a fond expression. Cora stares at her plate as she tries to hide a satisfied smile before reaching out to snatch the note, her mouth forming the difficult name silently._

_And Derek… Derek doesn’t really know what to think, but the corner of his mouth curls up just a little before he hides the expression behind his coffee cup._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!
> 
> Please remember: I am not done revising the later chapters of the story. I currently work two jobs and have a very busy personal life so I am not sure when I will finish, only that I will finish it eventually.
> 
> Also: I've left the old chapters "up" still since I don't want to lose the comments, but they are empty of content for the time being.
> 
> Next chapter will be up soon.
> 
> kisskiss  
> ♡ Scotch


	9. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya babs! Whooo, things have been craybles lately so, apologies for the tardiness - had some issues with some of the plot getting all twisty, and well, anyways...
> 
> Here's a new chapter!!! 
> 
> I hope that you like it and please excuse any mistakes!
> 
> :D

Stiles should have probably slept but, really, he’s so wired with worry and anticipation that there’s no way he would have been able to rest.

So he’s sitting in the park at 6:45 in the morning, leg bouncing as he waits for Laura to show up.

If she even decides to show up.

Deaton sighs softly, as if he can hear Stiles’ anxious thoughts, and says, “They will arrive promptly at the meeting time, Mr. Stilinski.”

“Yeah,” he grunts, bringing his fingers up to his mouth to start chewing at the nails.

“Don’t do that,” Deaton chides. Instead of saying something like ‘it’s a bad habit’, the vet continues with, “You never know what’s under your fingernails.”

“Eurgh,” Stiles spits, pulling his fingers from his mouth and thinking about the dried lizards he’d been grinding up two nights ago.

Deaton smiles and resumes his silent watching, looking like some sort of placid meditation statue.

Stiles taps his fingers on his knees and takes a few deep breaths, willing himself to calm the fuck down.

Either Laura will show or she won’t and there’s nothing Stiles can do about that. The ball is in her court.

True to Deaton’s word, right as Stiles’ phone shows 7 a.m., Laura comes strolling around the corner, her hands in her pockets and hair down and flowing free. Boyd and Isaac flank her and all of them have blank, unreadable expressions on their faces.

Stiles swallows hard and stands next to Deaton, trying to keep his heart from hammering.

Is he really going to do this? Tie himself to a bunch of supernatural creatures who lied to him?

But they lied about _what_ they are, not _who_ they are. Or is it the same thing? He doesn’t think it is.

Before he can get too deep into a thought-spiral, Laura and the others draw close and stop a few feet away, positioned with Deaton between them and Stiles.

“Alpha Hale,” Deaton greets, nodding respectfully at her.

Laura dips her chin at Deaton, eyes flashing with the slightest bit of red. “Alan.”

Deaton continues in that oddly formal tone, gesturing at Stiles. “I’d like to present Spark Stilinski for your consideration.”

Stiles clears his throat and says, just as formally, “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, Alpha Hale.”

“I’m honored by your request to join our pack, Spark Stilinski.” Laura gives him a once-over, the corner of her mouth twitching. She gestures at Boyd, “I’d like to introduce my Second,” and then to Isaac, “and my Enforcer.”

Stiles nods to them both. “Hello.”

Isaac gives a small bow with a smirk curling his lips, but Boyd just jerks his chin in acknowledgement, his arms crossed over his chest. He’s clearly not pleased with Stiles and it makes the knot in his stomach tighten.

Stiles’ worry fizzles a bit though, when Laura says, “I have spoken to the pack. We are in agreement to allow your petition, pending agreement of terms.”

Deaton interjects politely with, “As is tradition, Spark Stilinski will state his proposed terms first.” He takes a small step back and Stiles is face to face with Laura.

He focuses on her cheek, rather than her eyes, as he says, “Alpha Hale, I would very much like to be your pack’s Emissary, to be a point of contact between you and the world, to protect you and yours in any way that I can. In return, I request few things.” He waits until she nods, flicking her fingers for him to continue.

“I ask that I be able to have full access to your territory, so that I may ward it. I also ask that I not be kept in the dark about anything concerning the pack unless it is personal information and does not concern me.”

He sees her mouth tighten but she doesn’t interrupt.

“I ask that I am able to maintain my ability to leave the territory, should the need arise.” He doesn’t think she’s the type of Alpha to chain her Emissary to one place but he’s not willing to take any chances. “I would also like to discuss the opportunity to bring my family into the knowledge of the pack’s existence, even if they are not able to officially join the pack.”

Laura waits a moment after he’s done, her eyes hard as she mulls over his offers. “I hear your requests, Spark Stilinski, and I agree to honor them.” She smiles slightly at the relief that must be rolling off of him, the expression enough to make him wary again. She confirms his suspicions when she states, “These are my requirements:

“First, you will continue your employment at the pack business, unless it interferes with your other occupation or Emissary duties. Second,” her eyes flash and Stiles knows he’s maybe in a little trouble, “you will make your home at least half-time with the pack, in our den, so as to better protect, be protected, and take part in and be kept in the know about pack activity.”

It’s not… exactly what Stiles expects. He flicks his eyes to Deaton but the vet’s face is open and gives him nothing.

“I…” Stiles starts, biting his lip as he thinks about it. He takes a breath and says, “I accept your terms, Alpha Hale, and I thank you.”

Laura’s eyes flash fully red, followed by Boyd and Isaac’s flashing Beta gold. “You have my thanks in return, Spark Stilinski.” She holds out her hand and he takes it, clasping his cool fingers around her warm ones. “I expect you at the den tomorrow.”

“Understood.”

The corner of her mouth jumps again and she runs her free hand over the back of his before reaching up and running her hand down the back of his head and neck, scenting him before releasing him.

Stiles blinks and has to focus on his balance, oddly thrown after the intensity of the interaction.

Laura turns to Deaton and takes his hand. “I thank you for your help, Alan, in this and in all that you’ve done for us over the years.”

Deaton bows slightly over her hand. “A pleasure and a privilege, Alpha Hale.”

Laura takes back her hand and nods at them both before turning and walking away, Isaac and Boyd following behind her. When they turn the corner and disappear, Stiles slumps onto the bench and lets out a breath.

“So did that go the way things like this normally do?” he asks, glancing over at Deaton.

“It’s normal procedure for someone who wasn’t raised in the pack. Another way to be considered an Emissary is to be in a committed relationship with one of the pack members.” Deaton quirks an eyebrow at him.

Stiles frowns. “The only one in the pack I have a committed  _anything_  with is Erica and she’s in love with someone else.”

“I feel as if you’re being deliberately obtuse so I’ll let the subject drop,” Deaton replies.

“That would be awesome,” Stiles mutters.

“If there’s anything out of the ordinary during this process, I will let you know. I wouldn’t send you into something like this without being certain that it’s the right decision. Either way, I will help and instruct you on this to the best of my ability.”

Stiles looks up at the sincerity in the vet’s voice and nods. “Thanks, Doc. I appreciate it.”

Deaton inclines his head and presses his hand to Stiles’ shoulder before walking away down the path.

Stiles sits for a while, thinking about what he needs to do next and watching the city wake up and come alive around him.

When he feels like he can stand without falling, he goes to the grocery store, cleans the house, writes a bit, and actually does laundry. Around five, wearing fresh clean clothes, he decides to drop in on his dad and Melissa.

He’s not really sure how long things will take with the pack, what changes will be coming his way in the next few days, so he wants to see them.

“You smelled the tamales,” Melissa states, hands on her hips in the front hallway, when he opens the front door.

Stiles eyes the smile tucked into the corner of her mouth and sweeps her into a hug. “Sweet Melissa, I did not  _smell_  the tamales.” He pulls back and declares dramatically, “They called to my  _soul_  and I had to answer!”

She snorts and squeezes his side. “Good thing. You haven’t been eating much, I can tell.” She grabs his arm and hauls him further into the house. “Look who I found!” she calls as they enter the kitchen.

His dad looks up, a smile breaking over his face. “Well hey there, kid. What’s the occasion?”

Stiles rolls his eyes and plops down at the table. “No occasion. Just wanted to see you guys.” He leans forward and stage-whispers. “Also, the tamales called to me.”

John leans forward too. “They call to all of us.”

“I’m surprised Scott isn’t calling  _me_  right now,” Stiles adds, tapping his phone in his pocket. “Maybe I should call him and let him know.”

“Don’t tease him. He’s half a world away,” Melissa scolds. “It’s ready, by the way.”

Stiles and his dad might race to the counter. Stiles might win. His dad might trip him a little.

“So, someone mentioned…” his dad starts, after they’ve both had several tamales and are leaning back in their chairs patting their stomachs.

Stiles sighs. “Someone  _gossiped_ ,” he corrects then waves for his dad to continue.

John keeps going, “Someone  _mentioned_  that they haven’t seen you at the coffee shop very much recently.” He’s trying to appear like he’s not being totally nosy but he’s failing miserably.

Melissa keeps her face angled down, still eating, but her eyes flick to Stiles too so he knows she’s curious as well.

God,  _everyone_  in this town is a complete and total busybody.

Stiles smiles and shrugs. “Yeah. I told you I’ve been working on a really big plot point,” he lies smoothly, though he  _has_  actually been writing, so it’s not a  _total_  lie. “When Laura hired me, she knew I was writing another book,” also true, “so I sometimes make my own schedule.”

Which, right now, is not at all, but that’s whatever. He’s gonna start working there again eventually.

Melissa hums, seemingly satisfied. His dad narrows his eyes but, after a few moments of scrutiny, only says, “And with all this writing, when am I going to find out about Parker?”

Stiles laughs, wagging a finger at him. “Not gonna happen, Dad. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you.”

John huffs and crosses his arms, mimicking him in a frustrated tone, “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you...”

Melissa rolls her eyes and wipes her mouth. “If he tells you now, it’ll just ruin it and you’ll be upset he even told you in the first place.”

John gives her a  _you’re supposed to be on my side_  look and she throws her napkin at his face.

Stiles watches them smile at each other before they both start laughing, clutching at each other’s arms. It makes him happy to see his dad happy again and he’s always loved Melissa, wanted good things for her.

He leans forward and takes the plates from in front of them quietly, standing and carrying them into the kitchen. He starts washing the dishes, humming to himself.

“Later kid!” his dad calls a couple minutes later.

“Later Dad!” Stiles calls back, listening to the shuffle of his dad gathering his stuff and the front door closing.

A couple minutes later, Melissa pokes her head in and sees what he’s doing. “Well, since you’re cleaning up, I’m going to go take a bubble bath.”

“Enjoy,” he calls as she heads upstairs.

He feels a lot better as he drives back to the house, windows rolled down to let the lightly humid breeze whip around him. It helps him ground himself, the nerves that have been rolling around in his stomach calmed by the soft night air.

\-----

The next morning, Stiles ambles around the house and packs a bag for a couple of days.

“Toothbrush,” he mumbles, tossing that and toothpaste into the bag. “Medicine.” His regular meds and the bottle of weird blue pills go in too before he heads into the bedroom.

He’s a little anxious, biting his lip as he folds up a couple of shirts and shoves them in the bag. He has to admit though, mostly he’s curious as to what it’s going to be like to live with the pack.

Around ten, he figures there’s not much more he can do to hold off so he slings the bag over his shoulder and grabs his keys, pausing at the door to do a last minute check to see if he forgot anything.

Shrugging, he leaves and locks the door behind him. It’s not like it’s that far, if he really needs anything that badly.

The drive to the pack house is relatively quick since it’s early and just a few backroads from Maple Street. As he rounds the corner and the pack house comes into sight, Stiles is struck again with a strange anxiety. He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and pulls up next to the Equinox.

He notes, with a sour twist in his stomach, that the Camaro isn’t there.

The wind chimes tinkle at him as he walks up the stairs, clutching the strap of his bag tightly. When he gets to the door, he shifts from foot to foot.

Should he knock? He sort of lives here now, doesn’t he?

The door opens before he decides what to do, revealing Laura. She leans against the door frame for a second, studying him intently before pushing open the door and walking down the hall.

Stiles follows her, setting his bag on the island counter and waiting for her to speak.

Laura just picks up a cup of coffee and stares at him from where she’s leaning against the sink. She looks comfortable in a black ribbed tank top and yoga pants, her hair thrown up in a bun on her head.

Stiles leans forward and rests his elbows on the counter, resting his chin on his folded hands. He’s content to play this game, if that’s what she wants. He’s remarkably good at being quiet, despite what people may believe.

After a few minutes of silently watching each other, Laura snorts, putting her coffee down and grabbing a mug from the cabinet above the coffee pot. She puts it down in front of him, gesturing at the cream, sugar, milk, and Half-&-Half in clear invitation.

He turns the mug around, seeing that it’s covered in stylized eyes, all closed except for one that’s wide-open, long-lashed, and orange-brown. He smiles, oddly amused, and fixes the coffee the way he likes it.

“Thanks,” he murmurs.

Laura shrugs, moving toward the fridge. “You hungry?” At his affirmative hum, she says, “I’m gonna make waffles.”

Stiles sits on one of the barstools and watches her cook, content to reach out with his Spark and poke at the wards on the house, wondering idly just how large the pack’s territory is.

Laura slides a plate of waffles in front of him and follows it with a bowl of fruit, three different kinds of syrup, a tub of butter, and a container of raw sugar.

“Lots of variation,” he comments, grabbing for the butter and the strawberry syrup.

“Lots of people with lots of different opinions.” She rolls her eyes but smiles as she plates up four waffles for herself.

When they’re done eating, Laura grabs his plate and puts it in the sink. “Ready for the extended tour?”

Stiles nods, reaching out for his bag.

She leads him down the hall and up the stairs, pausing on the first landing and pointing out rooms: Boyd and Cora’s on the left, Isaac and Erica’s on the right, hers on the end, bathroom in the middle, Derek’s on the other end.

She probably doesn’t miss the way his heart beats faster, but she doesn’t say anything, just continues up the stairs to the third floor.

“This is the movie room or video game room, if we’re having a tournament,” Laura tells him, pointing to a room with a projector screen taking up one whole wall. Further down, she opens a door and gestures him into a library that makes his mouth water.

“Whoa,” he breathes as he takes in the large room filled with books.

“Yeah, we didn’t save a lot from the fire, but my parents had a lot in storage. Deaton’s helped us bulk up a little over the years, too.”

He turns and looks at her, wondering how hard it must have been for her to take over the pack after her family died.

She’s looking at the shelves but drops her eyes to his after a moment, her eyebrows rising. “There’s a work area for you too,” she says, gesturing to the corner of the room by the window.

Stiles walks over and sees a table similar to his set up at Deaton’s: shelves filled with bottles of various ingredients and substances, stacks of paper, hammered bowls of different metals, and a ton of other stuff.

“Where did you get all this?” he asks, tapping his finger against the container of mountain ash, smiling when the granules climb the glass trying to get to him.

“Deaton,” she tells him.

He turns around and she’s standing near the window, looking out contemplatively.

“Look, Stiles,” she sighs, “I know we weren’t very forthcoming about who we are.” She looks at him. “I hope you understand now why that is and that we never meant for you to get hurt.”

Stiles nods. “I know that.” He scratches at his arm, biting his lip. “It just sucks, the way things happened. It felt really personal.”

“I can see that and I really hope that we can move past this.” She holds out her hand, looking into his eyes. “I’m sorry, Stiles, for deceiving you.”

“Wow,” Stiles smiles, unable to resist poking fun at her, “did you practice that in the mirror before I got here?”

Laura sighs, a growl rumbling in her throat. “I want this to work, smartass. Could you try and take this a little seriously?”

“Fine, fine.” Stiles nods, trying to wipe the smile off his face. He reaches out and clutches her forearm. “I forgive you, Laura. Just remember, no more lies.”

Laura nods. “No more lies.”

“So,” Stiles says, “where’s my room?”

“Follow me, you little shit.” She shoulder-checks him as she moves toward the door.

He grins, following her to the end room next to the library. It’s got a nice bay window and a connected bathroom with a doorway that looks like it’s fresh. He touches the wood frame.

“Yeah, it wasn’t connected to the room, initially, but we figured you might prefer not to have to walk into the hallway then to the bathroom, so.” She shrugs.

He gives her a look. “You just randomly do construction projects around here?”

“Do you have any idea how much damage a werewolf pack causes?” She shakes her head. “Even growing up there would be holes in the walls, broken furniture, you name it.” She shrugs. “We’ve all gotten good at repairs over the years, especially Boyd.”

He puts his bag down on the window seat and looks at the empty room. “So, you haven’t gotten the knack of furniture building, yet?”

“The furniture is in the garage, since we had to paint it.” Laura narrows her eyes at him. “Erica thought it might be fun for you guys to go get bedding and such later, if you’re up for it.”

“Oh god,” he shakes his head at her, “you’re sending the two of us on a shopping trip together? Don’t you know how dangerous that is?”

“Hmm, you’re probably right.” She pulls out her phone. “I’ll get Isaac to pick some stuff up on the way back from the grocery store.” She puts her phone back in her pocket. “See? You’re helping advise me already.”

He rolls his eyes and gives a sarcastic bow. “I live to serve.”

She snorts, giving a sarcastic bow back. “Well, we can work on getting the furniture up here for now.”

“Alright.”

When Laura said “we” she probably didn’t mean for Stiles to think he was actually gonna help with the lifting. After checking that the paint is dry, Laura grabs two pieces of a bedframe and nods toward the door. “Can you get that for me?”

Stiles holds the door open and basically acts as a spotter, carrying drawers from the dresser and following behind Laura in case she loses her balance.

By the time the front door opens and Isaac bursts inside with shopping bags hanging from both arms, Stiles and Laura are finished moving, coming down the stairs to grab more coffee, the air easy between them again.

Isaac sees them and holds up his arms, triumphantly stating, “Got it all in one trip!”

Laura sighs and moves toward the kitchen without stopping while Stiles holds his hands out, offering to take some of the bags.

Isaac holds out his left arm. “The first four bags are yours. You’ll want to wash it though. It’ll all smell like plastic otherwise.”

Stiles takes the bags. “Thanks, dude.”

Isaac smiles at him and goes into the kitchen, depositing the rest of the bags on the island.

Stiles walks in behind him and asks Laura, “Where can I wash these?”

She gestures him towards a door next to the entrance to the mudroom where a pair of sleek machines gleam at him. “Uh…”

Isaac appears at his shoulder. “Yeah, there’s a shit ton of buttons.” He presses a couple things, turns a dial, and the water starts running.

“It’s like a damn spaceship,” Stiles mutters, pulling the sheets from the package.

“Yeah, we had to get new machines last year because the other ones broke,” Isaac tells him as he opens the pillow cases.

Something about his lofty tone makes Stiles narrow his eyes at him. “And how did they break?”

Isaac grins at him. “Not a clue.”

Stiles doesn’t by the Innocent Angel face for a second. He hums and continues to load the washer before grabbing the detergent pods from the shelf. Peering into the container, he sees that they’re clear and white. “What do these smell like?”

“Clean,” Isaac supplies. “There’s no dyes or fake smells. Other stuff makes our senses go nuts.”

“Huh.” Stiles throws a couple in and shuts the lid. He turns to Isaac and leans against the machine. “Thanks.”

Isaac nods, studying him with a serious expression.

Stiles sighs and waves his hand. “Go ahead, say whatever it is you’re thinking.”

Isaac raises his eyebrow. “You’re her best friend,” he says, shocking Stiles by talking about Erica rather than himself. “It hurt her to get you back and then lose you again. Try not to let it happen again, okay?”

“I can’t make any promises, but I’m not gonna run.”

“We’ll see.” Isaac shrugs, like he doesn’t care either way, and walks away.

Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose, knowing he’s got at least four more interactions like that in store before the day is over.

As if summoned by talking about her, Erica appears in the doorway as Stiles exits the laundry room.

She bites her lip and takes a step toward him, eyes hopeful.

He smiles at her and holds out his arms, bracing himself.

She flings herself at him, arms around his neck and legs around his waist, face pressed against his.

They squeeze each other tightly, rocking slightly in place.

“Hi,” she eventually mumbles against his cheek.

“Hi,” he echoes.

She pulls back and looks at him, lower lip trembling. “I am _so_ sorry.”

“Hey, hey,” he tuts at the sheen of tears in her eyes. He turns and deposits her on the island, peering up into her face when she ducks her chin. “Don’t cry, Catwoman. Everything is okay. I’m fine, see?” He holds out his arm and shows off the colors spiraled over his forearm.

She reaches out, running her fingers along the marks. “You’re healed?”

He nods. “All better. And I can do some pretty wicked party tricks now.”

She smiles but it’s still a little watery. “I really am sorry. I wanted to tell you, _so_ many times, but…”

“I know.” He sighs, scrubbing his hand through his hair. “I’ve learned a lot these past couple of weeks. I kind of get it, what it means to obey your Alpha, and…” He searches for the words, settling on, “I’m not mad anymore and I forgive you.”

“I fucked up, Batman,” she states, holding her hand out.

“Yeah,” he agrees, taking her hand. “But I still love you.”

She laughs and reaches out for his side. “You’re so skinny. What gives?”

“Melissa said the same thing.” He shrugs. “I’ve been training a lot, writing too, so I eat whenever I remember which I guess isn’t enough.”

“Hmmf.” She runs her hands under her eyes, mindful of her makeup, and hops off the counter. “I’m making sandwiches and we’re gonna sit by the pool. You’re pale as hell too.”

“Just because I’m apparently magical now doesn’t mean I won’t get sunburned, by the way.”

She waves her hand and starts making the sandwiches, chattering about the shop and asking about his writing. They go outside with two plates piled high with cucumber and turkey sandwiches. Sitting on the side of the pool with the food between them, they stick their feet in the water.

“So,” Erica prompts right when Stiles takes a bite, “have you talked to Derek yet?”

Stiles chokes a little and shakes his head. He finishes chewing before he says, “Cora or Boyd either.”

Erica winces a little. “Yeah, Boyd isn’t really happy with you right now.”

“I gathered that from the meeting yesterday.”

“It’ll be okay,” she tells him, patting his shoulder.

“So what is tonight gonna be like?” he asks, snagging another sandwich.

“Eh, we’ll shift and go for a run, like we do every full moon, unless there’s something else going on.”

Stiles snorts and shakes his head when she gives him a curious look. “Sorry, it’s just… I’m imagining all of you running through the woods looking like a dog gang.” She smiles and there’s something in the expression that has him asking, “What?”

“You don’t think we actually look like dogs when we shift, do you?”

“I mean,” he gestures vaguely at the air, “you all looked like dogs when you were at the house. Except, for,” he clears his throat, “well, Derek always looked like a wolf.”

Erica rolls her eyes. “That’s because he never wears his goddamn collar.”

“What does the collar have to do with it?”

“All of our collars have illusion and misdirection spells tied into them.” She sighs, smiling. “It feels really good to be able to tell you this, by the way.” Before he can do anything other than nod, she continues, “Deaton made them for us so that when we’re shifted and away from the den, anyone that sees us will see us as just normal dogs.”

“Dude.” Stiles taps his fingers on his knee. “That sounds really cool.”

She studies him for a moment before laughing. “You’re totally thinking about fiddling with one of the collars, aren’t you?”

He grins sheepishly at her. “Maybe.”

She rolls her eyes and pulls her feet from the pool. “I’ll grab the spare and meet you in the library so you can play.”

“Sweet.”

When he gets up to the library after a stop in the laundry room to put his stuff in the dryer, Erica is leaning over his work table, peering at the ingredients shelves. She reaches out toward the bottles and he garbles a sound at her.

She jerks her hand back, standing up straight and trying to look innocent. “I wasn’t going to touch it,” she quickly informs him.

“Yes you were,” he sighs. “But if you’re going to poke around, you should at least know which ones will fuck you up if you touch them.” He grabs a jar from the shelf that’s filled with leaves that appear to be silver-dipped. “This one is  _actinidia polygama_  or silver vine.”

“What does it do?” she asks, looking at the bottle, fingers twitching like she’s dying to reach out and touch.

“It’s commonly used as a sedative, but more for feline creatures. Still, I’m pretty sure if you were to eat the leaves, you’d be tripping balls for about a half an hour.” He places it on the rack in its appropriate position.

“Cool,” she mumbles, leaning forward to look at the other bottles, though she keeps her hands firmly by her sides this time.

After a moment, he starts pointing out which bottles contain what substance and what each one does. In return for the information, he pulls out his Emissary book and opens it to a random page, pointing at the swirly thing doodled there in purple ink.

“What is this?” he asks.

“It’s a triskelion, the Hale pack mark.” Erica taps at a spot on her sternum. “We’ve all got one.”

 “Oh,” he says, filing the information away for later, logic confirmed from the doodles.

“Speaking of marks,” she says, poking at his wrist, “when did you get this?”

“Ah, it’s my ward mark.” He holds up his arm for her inspection. “Keeps my Spark in check.”

She studies it then releases him. “It’s sort of weird, isn’t it? Being involved with all this stuff when we grew up completely normal?”

“I mean…” he drawls, “I don’t think you were ever _completely_ normal, but…” He dodges her punch and laughs when she growls her frustration.

She tosses her nose into the air and says haughtily. “I’ve got some stuff to do and I’m probably gonna nap before tonight. If you can, I suggest you do the same thing. Don't play with the collar too long or you'll be exhausted tonight.”

“Hmm, a nap does sound good,” he agrees, eyeing the comfy looking couch.

She presses a smacking kiss against his cheek before she walks out, almost with a skip in her step.

Eyeing the collar on his worktable, he reaches out to read the bone-shaped tag. It says  _Pepper_ and Stiles grins, pretty certain who the collar belongs to. His fingers itch with the urge to study the enchantment on the leather and cloth.

Stiles thinks about Erica's advice, though, and sighs before he decides to plop down on the couch and stretch out.

\-----

_Derek’s stomach swoops when he pulls into the driveway and sees Stiles’ blue Jeep parked there._

_It’s not like he didn’t know Stiles was going to be there today, since Laura told them how the meeting went, but… he’s nervous. Like a fucking kid on the first day of school or something._

_Shaking his head at himself, he gets out of the Camaro and lugs his bag of paint supplies with him, resolving to run it over to the cabin after he’s gone inside to see how things are going._

_Laura walks through the hallway and laughs when she sees him warily entering._

_“What?” he snaps._

_“Nothing, nothing.” She shakes her head, pointing at the ceiling. “He’s asleep on the couch in the library, in case you were wondering.”_

_He doesn’t bother to deny anything, since she always delights in catching him lie. Instead he asks, “Everything okay?”_

_“We’re good.” She hums. “Though only Isaac and Erica have talked to him. Cora and Boyd haven’t gotten back from the shop yet, so, fifty-fifty, I guess.”_

_He raises his eyebrows at her._

_“What?” She shrugs. “I have no idea the full extent of what went on between the two of you and I really don’t want to know because your personal life isn’t really my business.” She holds up her pointer finger, suddenly serious. “Unless it_ needs _to be my business, then of course, I’m all ears. You know can tell me anything.”_

_“Oh my god, Laura,” he sighs._

_“What? I’m your sister_ and _your Alpha and I’m trying my best. The rest of the pack is easy compared to you. Give me a break.” She flips him off and goes into the kitchen._

_He huffs in exasperation, heading to his room and dropping off the supplies. Afterwards, he stands at the bottom of the stairs and thinks about whether or not he should go upstairs._

_After a moment, he breaks down and silently climbs to the third floor, peering around the door into the library._

_Stiles is still asleep, mouth open and arm thrown above his head. His sprawl is inelegant and looks incredibly comfortable._

_Derek sighs, moving closer and grabbing the blanket that’s tossed over the armchair, draping it over Stiles and turning off the top light as he exits, leaving only the lamps to softly illuminate the room._

_Stiles needs his rest, Derek knows, because he’s just signed up for a lot, deciding to be Emissary of_ this _pack._

\-----

Stiles blinks awake sometime later, blearily patting at a woven afghan that’s pulled up to his chin. The house is quiet and he wonders what woke him when he hears a growl and pounding footsteps. There are more growls, a snap like something breaking, and giggling.

Laura hollers, “Quit that! Stiles is _asleep_!”

Sighing, Stiles rubs his eyes and calls, “No he’s not!”

He should probably get used to this, after all.

As he sits up, Cora skids to a stop in the doorway. She looks him up and down, scowls slightly, and announces, “You need to eat before we go running.” Then she smiles and disappears before Stiles can reply. He figures that must be him getting Cora's approval.

Sighing, he stretches and ambles to his bedroom, changing into the gym shorts he brought for sleeping in, figuring they’ll be better if he’s going to be expected to run anywhere.

He wonders why everyone is telling him to eat lately as he makes his way downstairs. Patting his stomach, he muses that maybe it is a little flatter than it’s been for a while. He may actually be losing his pudge from college.

When he gets to the kitchen, he nearly runs face-first into Boyd’s shoulder where he’s standing in the doorway. “Ah,” he says, stepping back and smiling at the werewolf, “sorry about that, man.”

Boyd just looks at him blankly for a moment before punching his shoulder and warning, “Don’t fuck this up.”

Rubbing his shoulder, Stiles nods and agrees, “Yeah, no, not planning on it. We’re all good.”

Boyd snorts his disbelief and continues into the kitchen, grabbing things from the fridge to put on the island.

“He’ll come around.”

Stiles jumps a little and turns to look at Derek. He bites his lip to keep all the other things he wants to say from spilling out, only allowing himself to ask, “You think so?”

Derek nods. “Remember what I said before? Tightly-Knit.” He shrugs. “They’ll all be okay again soon.”

Stiles hums, squinting a little. He should probably just keep his mouth shut but he has to know. “And, uh, what about you?”

“Me?” Derek sounds surprised, eyebrows raising, like he didn’t think Stiles cared one way or the other.

“Yeah.” Stiles lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Are you gonna come around?”

Derek’s mouth twitches to one side and he pushes off the wall, walking past Stiles and saying lowly, “I’m thinking about it.”

Stiles waits in the hallway until he’s sure the flush has faded from his cheeks before he goes into the kitchen. If anything, Derek is even _more_ attractive now. Stiles isn’t sure if it’s because Derek is comfortable with him or that now he knows about the werewolf thing or what.

Either way, Derek was hot before, but now it’s just not fair.

Stiles sighs and finally enters the room, sliding in between Erica and Cora at the island and grabbing a plate. It’s a free-for-all with meat, cheese, bread, fruit, veggies, chips, leftovers in glass containers that steam faintly, and pastries.

He’s impressed by how much the pack puts away, laughing and scuffling with each other, talking about their days and teasing each other.

He watches, soaking it in, and enjoying the way they all seem to hum on the same wavelength of energy. It’s comforting, solid, and he thinks that he could get used to it.

When everyone’s done eating, they all head out back, Laura grabbing a red permanent marker on the way and waggling it at Stiles. He sighs, rolling his eyes, and she grins at him.

The moon’s reflection dances along the pool’s surface, throwing silver light in strange ways. In the grass, Stiles flexes one leg, then the other, watching as Laura takes a deep breath, her eyes closing as she seems to bask in the light of the moon.

After a moment, she looks at him, eyes flashing red. She steps close and asks, “Stiles, Spark and potential Emissary, do you chose to take this step toward becoming pack, to have us as your own, to protect and care for us as long as you are able?”

“I do so choose.” Stiles holds out his left hand, bare wrist looking ghostly pale.

Laura gently takes his hand. Using the marker, she traces a small triskelion that mirrors his ward mark. The ink looks like blood as Laura presses her palm to the mark, pulling it away to leave a smudgy imprint.

She presses the symbol to her chest, above her heart, and Stiles feels the slightest tingle of energy in the back of his knees and the hair prickles at the base of his neck.

“Welcome, Stiles,” she tells him, running her hands over his neck and shoulders. She hugs him and then steps back, tossing the marker toward the patio set with a grin.

He doesn’t have a chance to respond before he’s enveloped in arms, hands patting at him and faces pressed to his as he’s spun and handed back and forth. He’s almost breathless when everyone pulls away from him, leaving him with rucked up clothes and messy hair.

He laughs a little, pulling at his clothes, and says, “Thanks, guys.”

Laura throws her head back and howls, a loud, beautiful, eerie sound that makes chills break out on his skin. The rest of the pack takes up her call. He watches as they seem to almost dance to some silent song, pulling off their clothes and shifting.

It’s the most disgusting thing he’s ever seen and it looks incredibly painful, the way their bodies contort and crack and slither into another shape.

It’s also one of the coolest things he’s ever seen as they all shake off the magic of the change, stumbling on four feet and shaking their coats.

Erica was right: they really don’t look like dogs when they’re shifted. Their colors are the same: Erica is pale with dark markings, Boyd is silvery gray, Cora is red, Isaac is yellow. But their size is almost doubled, their heads larger and jaws clearly filled with sharp teeth.

They look like wolves, dangerous and sleek, and even Derek looks more like a wolf and less like a hybrid mix, his yellow eyes flashing as Cora and Erica bump against him playfully.

And, compared to the rest of the pack, Laura’s shifted form is absolutely _massive_ , fur a dark brown like her hair, and the top of her head reaching up to his belly.

“Dude, I don’t care if your collar says something adorable like Brownie or Crumpet, there’s no _way_ you look like a normal dog with it on,” he tells her. “You’re as big as a pony!”

She buts her head against his side and he stumbles, laughing as she licks his face.

“Ugh, gross, Laura, jeez,” he admonishes, shoving her head away.

She rubs her side against his legs and almost knocks him backwards. As he laughs she makes a deep sound and starts toward the woods. He follows her, having to brace himself as the others rub their sides over his calves, butting their heads under his hands.

As the pack moves, they seem to flow over the ground, all fluid grace.

He jogs along with them, jumping and moving through the paths, the rustle of fur and the sound of pounding feet surrounding him.

When they finally get back home, he collapses in the grass, chest heaving as he pants and tries not to die. The muscles in his legs and stomach and lower back are all twitching and he knows he should keep moving or he’ll lock up but he doesn’t want to.

He looks up when paws press against his left calf. Erica snorts at him, somehow scolding him even with a wolf face, and presses several more times before moving to his other calf.

“Goddess,” he tells her, dropping his head back and staring at the sky.

Laura huffs happily as she drops next to Stiles’ head, tongue lolling as she rolls on her back, wriggling around in the grass.

“You are a goofy puppy and no one will ever be able to tell me different now,” he informs her, swatting at her foot with a grin.

She snorts at him and Stiles isn’t prepared when Erica drops onto his stomach, darting up to lick his chin.

“Ugh, nasty!”

She yips and rolls off of him, swatting him in the face with her tail as she trots toward the house.

“Shower,” Stiles sighs, making himself get up with a groan. He hopes that he’ll have more energy next time and wonders if he needs to start casually jogging again.

He somehow makes it up to his room and blesses whoever built the house that the water heater seems large and powerful because there are at least two showers running and his is still the perfect temperature to beat his muscles to mush.

When he gets back into his room, he sees that his bed has been made with his new sheets. He stands there for a moment, amused as all hell because, even though he took all the stuff out to wash it, he didn’t notice that it was pretty much all red and dark gray and silver.

“Red Riding Hood over here,” he mumbles, pulling on boxers and dropping his towel over a chair. “Freaking werewolves,” he sighs as he faceplants in bed, out like a light as soon as his eyes close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!
> 
> Please remember: I am not done revising the later chapters of the story. I currently work two jobs and have a very busy personal life so I am not sure when I will finish, only that I will finish it eventually.
> 
> Also: I've left the old chapters "up" still since I don't want to lose the comments, but they are empty of content for the time being.
> 
> Next chapter will be up soon.
> 
> kisskiss  
> ♡ Scotch


	10. Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well damn, sometimes I amaze myself. Despite my shitty mood, I managed to get the chapter finished today. Huzzah! 
> 
> Please excuse any mistakes.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

When Stiles wakes up, he stretches widely, flailing his limbs around on his new sheets, and groans happily. He feels really good, like he could run for miles, all traces of soreness gone from his muscles.

He grabs for his phone and checks his messages, grimacing when he sees an email from his publisher. Not that he doesn’t love Chase, just… With everything that’s been going on with his personal life, Parker’s life seems a little, well, _dull_.

He makes a promise to himself that he’ll work on the timeline and at least a few chapters in the next couple of days.

Idly, he swipes through his social media accounts, then manages to pull himself from the bed.

When he’s dressed, he goes downstairs and finds a plastic container on the counter. There’s a sticky note with his name on it on the lid, complete with a little heart over the ‘i’. Amused, he grabs a cup of coffee and digs in to the pancakes, eggs, and sausage.

After washing the container, he ambles outside and sits down next to Laura at the table.

“Good morning, my Emissary,” Laura greets, her finger stuck in a book as she takes a sip of coffee.

“Good morning, Alpha Dearest,” he replies, plopping into the chair across from her.

“Any big plans for the day?” she asks.

“Not really. Probably gonna write for a while. Thinking about doing it at the shop so I look really important and professional.”

“Not to mention the fact that there’s an endless supply of coffee there,” Laura muses.

“Yeah, that is definitely a perk.” He laughs. “Ha, get it? ‘Perk’?”

Laura looks up from her book to roll her eyes. “You’re hilarious.”

“Yeah,” he sighs with a smile. “You’re so lucky I’m in your pack.”

“Don’t I know it.” She sticks a bookmark in between the pages and stretches her arms over her head. “Actually, I should probably head that way too. I have to do some interviews.”

“Interviews? For what?”

“We need a couple extra hands around the shop, to cover shifts when one of us is unavailable. Deputy Romero’s little sister needs a Summer job and she knows what we are, so it would work out well.”

“Deputy Romero… you mean Valerie, right? She’s one of the newer deputies.” Stiles leans forward, intrigued. “Are they Weres too or what?”

“They’ve got the Sight. It makes it pretty easy for them to know what’s going on. Valerie says it gives her a pretty good edge when it comes to catching criminals.”

“How many deputies know what’s going on?”

“There’s a few.”

“Parrish totally is,” he half-asks and she nods. Ha! He _knew_ it. “But not my dad, right?”

Laura sighs. “No, the Sheriff doesn’t know.” She taps her toes. “That’s why I wasn’t totally averse to you telling your dad about the pack. It certainly couldn’t hurt to have him in the know.”

“He’s pretty awesome when you give him all the information,” he agrees, his guilt about the Aswangs being behind the murders creeping up his throat.

Laura, clearly sensing his distress, reaches out and touches his shoulder. “We’ll tell him soon, okay?” she tells him and he believes her.

“Yeah, okay.”

She smiles and pinches his cheek. “Now go and be the glamourous author. Watch the new recruits and tell me which ones you think I should pick.”

“Aye aye, ma’am,” he says with a jaunty salute that makes her sigh.

\-----

On Monday, he makes himself take a break from writing before he gets mad enough to delete the whole damn book. He’s been staring at the pages he worked on the day before for hours without making any progress.

After a quick breakfast of cold pizza, he gathers his notes and starts compiling the different things he needs to expand his Emissary book. He has an idea that he thinks will go over quite well, when the design is complete.

Around three, he needs a break from that too, so he takes a walk and doesn’t stop until he reaches the edge of Hale territory. He presses his hand against a tree with a triskelion carved about ten feet up, feeling the energy there and turns his head, imagining that he can see the line that extends to the next tree down the line.

He runs his feet along the leaf litter and dirt on the line, muttering things to himself and tapping notes into his phone. After a while, he realizes that one of the wolves is shadowing him and has been for at least five minutes.

Glancing up, he sees a flash of red and rolls his eyes, going back to his calculations.

After a while, Stiles finds his way to the back yard of the pack house. He stops in the middle of the yard, closes his eyes, and pulls up the territory in his mind. He reaches for his Spark and lets it do whatever it wants with his mental picture of the area. He gets the basic perimeter from where he’s walked, pressing small dots of his Spark in different places that he feels are the important boundary points.

He goes upstairs to the library, ignoring his tail, and sits at his table, pulling out the notes that Deaton made about warding and what he needs.

He grabs six of his ingredient bottles, a glass bottle of oil, his mortar and pestle, and a box of small, tightly woven bags. In an almost trance-like state, he combines the ingredients on instinct, feeling which ingredients should go in at what time, grinding until he’s got a gray paste which he rolls into small balls the size of garbanzo beans.

He drops one in each bag, ending up with about twenty thumb-sized bundles. He gathers them up and heads back downstairs, not seeing Cora, but knowing that she’s probably prowling just out of sight. He stops off in the mudroom and grabs a small spade from the bucket of garden tools before he heads to the front yard.

He walks through the woods until he finds the Northern-most spot that he marked previously, then takes one of the bags in his palm, holding his other hand over the open bag. He takes a deep breath, imbuing the bag and its contents with his will to protect the territory from intruders and anyone who bears the Hale pack ill will. He finishes it, looking into the bag and seeing the electric fibers of the spell take hold.

“What are you doing?” Cora asks from directly behind him, making him jump and almost dump the contents of the bag all over the ground.

Stiles takes a breath to center himself and says calmly, “I’m laying wards.” He closes the bag and ties it in a bow before placing it in the hole and covering it with dirt.

“By burying bags of herbs?” Cora’s confusion and skepticism comes through clearly in her voice as she perches on a rock.

He can feel his eye twitch as he pats the dirt down firmly. “Not just herbs. Lots of things go into the bags. I know you were there in the hall when I made them.” She doesn’t say anything, just gives him a blank face, and he shakes his head. “Look, I really need to focus on this.”

“Fine. I’ll be quiet.” She follows him when he moves to the next spot, clockwise from the first marker, and finds a tree to lean against.

When Isaac appears around the fifth or sixth bag and opens his mouth to say something, Cora hisses, “He needs _quiet_.”

Stiles expects a fight and glances back to give them both raised eyebrows.

Isaac raises his eyebrows back. “Yeah, okay,” he whispers back, settling in soundlessly.

Sighing, Stiles finishes the next bag and buries it. The two of them follow him to the next spot and Stiles activates the bag.

There’s a beat or two of silence before Isaac pipes up with, “So what makes the wards work?”

Stiles makes an exasperated noise, closing his eyes as he begs the universe for patience. “If I promise to explain what they’re all about when I’m done, will you leave me alone for now? Please?”

“Sure,” they chirp in unison.

Stiles rolls his eyes and turns back to what he’s doing.

He finally buries the last bag as the sun starts to set, reds and oranges bleeding into the clouds. He stands from his crouch, blood rushing and he has to shake his head to keep from falling. He moves to the very center of the web, in front of and just to the side of the pool.

Arms out, he gathers all the tiny tendrils of his Spark lingering in the circle and brings them together, sealing them with a burst of light that knocks him on his ass.

When his vision clears, Derek is lifting him to his feet, hand burning hot against his palm.

“Hot,” he slurs, trying to stay upright. He tightens his grip on Derek’s hand, stumbling and putting his free hand against Derek’s chest, blinking into Derek’s face from inches away. “Sorry, sorry.”

Derek’s mouth quirks, eyes running over him. “Come on, you’re done,” he says softly, pulling Stiles toward the house.

When they get inside, he gets lifted from his feet and he doesn’t remember much else.

\-----

Stiles wakes groggily, feeling like he’s just gotten the shit kicked out of him. He’s in the middle of the giant couch in the entertainment room that everyone calls The Nest with a blanket tangled around his legs.

There’s a soft sigh to his left and he turns, seeing Erica’s golden eyes from a couple feet away where she’s sprawled on her stomach. Her cheek is propped on her crossed arms and she’s clearly been watching him sleep.

“Creeper,” he rasps, flopping his hand at her.

She wrinkles her nose at him. “Deaton says you used too much.”

_No shit._ He gives a breathy laugh. “Yeah, I realized that. So I passed out?”

“It was weird,” she continues in a soft voice. “You finished doing whatever you did and it was like I could see purple stuff around you for a minute before you fell. It smelled like electricity.”

“Does electricity have a smell?” he asks, extremely curious.

“I guess.” She frowns, shrugging a little. “I mean, I say _smell_ but it’s kind of a combination of scent and taste and the feeling of your hair standing on end, you know? You smell pretty strongly of that sometimes.”

“Interesting. What else do I smell like?”

She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. “Like grass and paper, mostly, with a hint of coffee, probably from the shop.” She cocks her head like she’s listening to someone in another room. “Also: exhaustion.” She opens her eyes, the pupils large in the dimly-lit room. “And you smell more like pack every day.”

He smiles at her, reaching out and honking her nose. “Good. I want to smell like you, even though you all kinda smell.”

She rolls over and ends up laying on him, her back across his torso, hair a heavy blonde wave over one of his arms. “You kinda smell sometimes too. We’re just too well-bred to bring it up.”

“Pfft. You’re all a bunch of wild things if you ask me,” he grunts, trying to push her off since she’s squishing his bladder.

“Hmm, wild things.” She grins at him, teeth long and sharp, body boneless and heavy as he shoves at her. “I like it.”

“You _would_ ,” he huffs and finally rolls her off of him. He manages to climb out of the nest, almost falling when he gets upright. “You’re the wildest of them all.”

She stretches, all long limbs, pointed toes, and clawed hands. “You bet your ass I am.”

He snorts as he walks away, stopping by his bathroom. He goes downstairs after, wandering through the kitchen and into the back yard. He goes to the nearest border tree, not really caring that he’s barefoot since it’s pretty close and has a soft bed of moss around the base.

Pressing his palm against the bark, he feels the thrum of his Spark, strong and steady. It makes him happy, feeling how solid the ward is, and he smiles when he pulls his hand away from the tree.

He turns around and yelps when he sees Derek standing a few feet away. “What the hell, dude?!” he pants, hand pressed to his chest. “Make some noise when you walk, jeez!”

“I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you,” Derek tells him, half a smile curling his mouth. “I was just seeing what you were doing.”

“Checking up on me,” Stiles accuses with narrowed eyes.

Derek shrugs. “Maybe.” He nods at the tree. “Everything good with that?”

“Yep,” Stiles pats the tree trunk, “all set. I shouldn’t have to renew the spell for another couple of months, if all stays well.”

“Yeah,” Derek says as they fall in step, heading back to the house, “it’s usually pretty quiet around here.”

He can’t resist the urge to tease, “So Aswangs don’t normally pop up out of nowhere and kidnap people?”

“No, not really,” Derek replies, frowning a little. “It hasn’t been bad since…” he pauses, clearing his throat as they approach the yard. “I’ll be at the cabin if anyone needs me,” he mutters then disappears into the trees across the yard.

Stiles watches him go, knowing that Derek was thinking of the fire, and feels the kind of overwhelming sadness that he has sometimes when he sees a friend hurting and knowing that there’s nothing he can do for them to make it stop.

\-----

On Wednesday, he finally goes back to work at Hallowed Grounds.

He spends a good bit of time greeting people that he met at the Fourth of July celebration.

Cora scowls next to him, seemingly uninterested in socializing more than she’s required, and presses herself to his side as soon as the customers walk away.

He laughs, ruffling her hair and enjoying the angry glare he gets in return.

He _really_ enjoys watching her train Hayden when the girl comes in. She’s a lot like Cora – brown hair and lean build and attitude for days – that it’s pretty hilarious to see the two of them glaring at each other and the way that Cora gives seemingly-begrudging approval when Hayden makes a perfect latte.

Later on, when he’s tucked into bed at his place, he texts Scott back so that his brother knows everything is going well.

Scott scolds him for being mysterious but Stiles just plays it off, wondering when he’s going to be able to sit down with his brother and explain the supernatural to him.

He chuckles to himself and keeps reading about astral projection while Isaac – sprawled across his feet as Biscuit – snaps at the paper bug Stiles sent swirling around his head, sparing a brief thought as to how this has become his life.

\-----

Stiles scowls down at his t-shirt drawer on Thursday and knows that he put his shirt with the tropical pocket on the top of the middle stack. It’s nowhere to be found as he flips through the other shirts in the drawer. Frustrated, he gives up and grabs a plain grey V-neck.

He has to stop by the pack house on the way to Deaton’s for a lesson so he drives over and heads inside, calling, “Hey, it’s me. Grabbing some stuff from the library!”

“Get some Italian bread for dinner on the way back!” Boyd calls back from the kitchen.

“Yeah!”

Boyd hasn’t exactly been the _warmest_ to him but over the past couple of days, the stiffness has started to leave the other man’s spine when Stiles is around. It’s a slow start but Stiles is cool with it, just as long as they’re making progress.

Snagging his book, a few papers, and a jar of dried flowers he doesn’t have any of at the clinic, Stiles hurries off. On his way back down, he passes Erica on the stairs and blows her a kiss and she pretends to catch it with a smirk.

He keeps going then he pauses and stares after her as she climbs. He points and garbles a, “Hey!”

She pauses, turns back with a curious expression. “What?”

He points again. “That’s my shirt!”

“Well, yeah.” She looks down at it, tugs lightly at the hem. “I know.”

“I was looking for that. I knew it was in my dresser yesterday!” he declares. “How did you even get it?”

“If you want it back…” She grabs the hem and starts to lift.

Stiles catches sight of the bottom of her breasts and he slaps a hand over his eyes. “Jesus, Erica, that’s okay. Just… wear it.”

She cackles at him and says, “Alright. Whatever you say.”

“You know I hate it when people steal my clothes,” he complains, peeking to see if he can drop his hand.

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” She rolls her eyes at him. “It never stopped me before and it won’t stop me now.”

“Wild thing!” he accuses, glancing at his phone. “Dammit. I’m gonna be late.”

Derek and Isaac look at him from where they’re sitting at the bottom of the stairs fixing the loose bannister from where someone slid down it or ran into it or something.

He points at them as he descends. “You two as well!”

“Us two what?” Derek asks, half distracted and totally hot in his white tank top and jeans.

His mouth is dry when he says, “Wild Things!”

They shrug, not denying it, though now they’re both smirking, likely enjoying driving him to raving.

Isaac looks up at his girlfriend and tells her, “Erica, that shirt looks _great_ on you.”

“I know, right?”

“Ugh, you guys are the _worst_.”

The sound of the three of them laughing follows him outside to the Jeep. He heads out and has to swerve to avoid hitting Cora as she darts across the driveway in wolf form. He lays on the horn and she flicks her tail at him before disappearing into the trees.

_Freaking werewolves._

\-----

Sunday is a day of lessons for Stiles, this time with Laura instead of Deaton.

“Today, you’ll be learning about the Hale history, my dear Emissary,” she informs him as she drops a heavy book down onto the work table, making all the bottles rattle slightly on their shelves.

“Jesus, you could kill a man with that thing,” he admires it with awe, reaching out to runs his fingers over the intricate cover.

“I think one of my great aunts did that once…” she hums, turning to get a chair to drag over.

He goes to rolls his eyes but stops at her serious expression. “Wait, really?”

“I don’t know if it actually happened.” She shrugs. “It just reminded me of something one of them said one time when I was little about how knowledge is power and if a book has enough knowledge, i.e. is big and heavy as fuck, it can be incredibly powerful.” She smiles wistfully down at the book. “Great Auntie Regina was always wildly fascinating to me.”

He nods. “Sounds like she was a trip.”

Laura laughs brightly. “You seriously have no idea.” She shakes her head. “The things that woman would get into.”

“I wish I could have met her.” Stiles opens the book, sees a name written in purple ink. It makes his heart soar to see it in this book too. “Alexandra too.”

Laura makes a soft sound and it pulls his gaze up to her. “Sorry. I just…” She shakes her head gently. “I didn’t understand for a second why you'd pick her but I guess she put stuff in your book, right? I remember she never went anywhere without it… when she had it.”

Stiles nods, pulling his book over from the top of a bookshelf with a flick of his fingers. As it settles in his palm, he smiles at Laura.

“Show off,” she teases, leaning a little closer.

He opens to the page with the comment about the pimple and the prom date.

Laura reads it and sits back, eyes welling up a little as she laughs loudly. “That, that right there is perfect. I think I completely blocked that out. Oh god, it was _so_ embarrassing.”

A though occurs to Stiles. “If Alexandra always had the book, how did Deaton end up with it?”

Laura frowns, puzzling as she flips through the pages of the large book on the table. “I’m not sure. Logically, it would have been with Aunt Alex in the house, so it should have burned.” She eyes the book sitting in his hands. "What do you think?"

“If I had to guess, I’d say that it’s maybe a little sentient from all the magic that it’s been exposed to over the years,” Stiles suggests, tilting his head to study his little book.

“Probably not a bad assumption,” Laura agrees. She turns to the very front page of the giant book and angles it toward Stiles, showing him an incredibly detailed drawing of a tree, complete with spaces for names. “This is the Hale Family, traced back all the way to the thirteen-hundreds.”

“Dude, this is so cool.” Stiles studies the names, traces the lines. He sees several different colors of ink and some names that are stricken out in different ways. “What do these colors and symbols mean?”

Laura points out each one. “The red stars distinguish Alphas. The green squiggles show Emissaries; the white dots are human pack members. The black strike outs are illness or accidental death; the blue are for old age.” She purses her lips and adds, “The silver strike outs are to show deaths by Hunters.”

Stiles turns the page to the newer branches of the tree and stares at Laura’s name, a lopsided red star etched next to it. All around her name, silver lines run through the branches.

“Why are all of these crossed out with silver?” he asks, tapping at the lines. “I thought there was a fire.”

“Oh there was,” she agrees, “but it was a Hunter who started it, so that’s why they’re marked that way.”

Stiles stares at her. “That’s… not supposed to happen. I mean,” he tries to explain, “sorry, that was stupid, but from what I read, they have a Code or something. I can’t imagine your family was killing people left and right or there would have been a lot more bodies.”

Laura shakes her head, curling her fingers around the edge of the book. “No, we weren’t killing people. And the Code?” She laughs and it’s bitter. “They only follow that when the want to or it’s convenient.”

“That’s really fucked up,” Stiles finally states after staring at the tree for another couple of seconds.

“Utterly,” Laura agrees, resting her fingertips gently against her mother’s name before she turns the page. “Don’t think you can get out of studying this by making me tell the backstory for the worst thing to ever happen to me.” She eyes him as he shoots her an innocent look.

“Read this,” she orders firmly, tapping at the cover. “It’s important for our Emissary to know our pack’s history. Let me know if you have any questions, okay?”

Stiles stares at the tome, since it’s way too large to call a novel, much less a plain book. “Alright,” he agrees, dragging it closer and settling down to get started.

\-----

_Somehow, Derek gets roped into playing Uno with everyone Wednesday night, even though they usually don’t play board or card games since everyone ends up cheating and it drives him nuts._

_But Stiles smiles at him and wiggles his eyebrows while asking, “What’s the matter, Derek? Scared I’ll beat you?”_

_And then it’s on._

_Almost halfway through the game, Stiles tosses his second to last card down. “Uno!” he declares happily._

_Everyone groans and he laughs as he dodges popcorn that’s thrown at him._

_“Don’t be jealous, I warned you I was good at this game,” he tuts, waving his finger at them. His phone starts ringing and he pulls it from his pocket, grinning when he sees who it is. “Well hey gorgeous,” he greets warmly._

“Hiya, handsome,” _a feminine voice purrs._ “Got time for a little chat?”

_“For you, anything.” Stiles motions for everyone to carry on with the game and walks out of the living room. “How are you? When are you getting here? I fucking miss you, babe!”_

_Derek turns and finds Erica staring after Stiles too, a frown on her face._

_“Who’s he talking to?” Derek asks her softly as the others continue the game._

_“Who cares?” She lifts one shoulder in a shrug, mouth twisted in a petulant moue._

_Derek doesn’t comment, just picks his cards up and glances at the table. He catches Laura’s eye and shrugs at his sister’s raised eyebrow._

_Laura shrugs back, clearly having no idea who Stiles is talking to either._

_After a few minutes, Stiles comes back into the room with two more bags of chips and fresh sodas for himself and Isaac. He doesn’t say anything about the call, just picks up his cards and looks around. “Alright,” he asks, eyes narrowed, “who cheated while I was gone?”_

_Cora makes an indignant sound when Isaac points at her, though Derek knows Laura grabbed an extra card from the draw pile and that Erica intentionally dropped two cards on the floor._

_“Doesn’t matter,” Stiles declares imperiously. “I’m going to win anyway.”_

_Several of them snort or laugh and Cora’s eyes gleam as she tells Stiles not to get his hopes up._

_It seems, as the game resumes, that Derek and Erica are the only ones who seem bothered by the fact that Stiles is talking to some mystery woman and calling her pet names and that she’s apparently going to be visiting soon._

_Derek’s sure that Erica’s reasons are different from his but it rankles just the same._

_Stiles ends up winning and Cora tackles him across the table, scattering cards as everyone laughs or tries to help but ends up drawn into a tickle fight that ends with Derek getting an elbow to the eye._

This _is why he doesn’t play games with the pack._

_Maybe Stiles is on to something by calling them all Wild Things, he thinks as he sits with his eyes closed and waiting for the pain to fade as his eye heals._

\-----

When Stiles wakes up on Saturday, wolves are crawling slowly into his bed from every direction.

He sits up, blinking sleepily at them, trying to formulate thoughts of some sort but he feels like utter  _crap_. His skin is tight and his eyes are dry and his teeth  _hurt_ … teeth aren’t supposed to hurt.

He takes a deep breath and reaches for his Spark, wondering if maybe he’s overdone it again, not that he can recall anything that he really did. When he sees it, it’s there in all its purple-fire glory.

He opens his eyes and looks again at the wolves. Reaching out, he runs his hand down Erica’s side. She sighs, wiggles closer to him and shoves her face against his chest with a huff.

“What’s going on?” he croaks, scratching under her chin.

She makes a low grumbling sound and jerks her snout up, knocking into his chin.

“Yeah, that doesn’t really help me that much,” he informs her, pulling pillows behind himself so he can lean back.

He pulls her closer, lifting his other arm as Isaac nuzzles nearer on the other side and Cora moves up on Erica’s other side, resting her chin on his shoulder. He smiles, rubbing his cheek against hers as he trails his hands gently over Erica and Isaac’s ears and necks. He smiles at Boyd who huffs and moves just close enough that his paw can touch Stiles’ foot.

The puppy pile gets another member when Laura walks in and flops on top of Stiles’ legs, draping one arm over Isaac and the other over Boyd.

“You have work this morning,” she eventually says into the blanket, face down and looking like she doesn’t want to move either.

Stiles isn’t sure which one of them she’s talking to since he can’t really figure that there’s any reason for him to move at all right now. “Which of us have to go in?” he finally asks since the others can’t use words.

“You, me, Isaac, Erica,” Laura sighs, still face down.

Stiles sighs too. “Why do I feel like shit?” he groans.

“It’s the new moon. You’re feeling it so strongly, and we’re feeling it stronger than usual, because the bond is so new. It’s not usually like this.”

“What is it usually like?” he asks as he stares at the ceiling.

She huffs a laugh and her voice is a little clearer as she answers, “A little more sleepiness than normal, some increased grumpiness, decreased appetite – nothing as extreme as this.”

“Hmf. This sucks,” he informs her, wiggling his legs.

She rolls over, wriggling her back against his shins. “It’s for a good reason though. We get you, you get us… what’s a little temporary lethargy between pack, right?”

Erica huffs and hops off the side of the bed. After a minute, she pops up and pulls one of his shirts on, shaking hair from her face to twist into a bun, and scowls. “I swear to god, I will end the next person who uses a word that’s too complicated. I don’t want to have to  _think_  right now.” She presses her palm against her forehead and shuffles from the room.

“I’ll run the register today,” Stiles volunteers, winking at Laura who winks back.

“Good idea.” She takes a deep breath and pulls herself to her feet. “We need to leave in fifteen minutes.”

“Ma’am, yes ma’am,” he replies, wriggling free from Cora and Isaac who grumble but stand and jump to the floor to head out of his room too.

He gets his clothes, heads to the bathroom, manages to brush his teeth and wash his face, though it kind of hurts, and get downstairs in about twelve minutes.

He doesn’t see anyone waiting to leave yet so he just leans against the wall next to the door and closes his eyes.

He’s not sure if it’s his Spark that tells him or if it’s the pack bonds or if there’s just something specific that is so utterly attuned at this point, but when he opens his eyes and Derek is staring at him from the bottom of the staircase, he doesn’t jump. He only blinks calmly at the werewolf who then blinks back at him.

He expected Derek to be in wolf form, like the others, but he’s fully human. He looks about how Stiles feels though, a little pale with fatigue pinching the skin around his eyes, though he still looks great, dammit.

Stiles dips his chin then closes his eyes again, tipping his head to rest against the wall. Derek doesn’t really make noise but Stiles can tell when he’s close, again, not sure if it’s pack or Spark or whatever.

He doesn’t move, just lets Derek get as close as he wants to since he guesses that Derek is feeling clingy right now too. But Human Derek is never as tactile as Wolf Derek is.

All his thoughts screech to a halt when he feels fingertips against the side of his neck. There’s the briefest pressure, like a forehead on his shoulder, and then a deep inhale.

Stiles knows that his heart is beating really fast. He keeps his breathing even, though, and just waits. After about a minute, Derek pulls away and all Stiles can smell on his next inhale is  _Derek_.

Stiles makes himself wait ten long seconds, counts out the Mississippi’s in his head to give Derek enough time to leave or whatever before he opens his eyes. This time, he does jump, just a little.

Derek is inches from him, looking at him with a tiny frown line formed between his eyes. He murmurs, “Stiles, I…”

Upstairs, Laura slams her bedroom door and bellows, “Let’s go!”

As Laura clomps down the stairs, Derek’s expression goes full scowl and he huffs, turning away from Stiles and going into the kitchen.

Laura gives Stiles a strange look when she reaches the bottom of the stairs. “What’s going on?”

He straightens, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Nothing.” He knows his heart skips, but he pulls the door open before she can question him further. “You ready?”

She gives him a look but doesn’t push, just shouts, “Erica! Isaac! Come _on_!” She follows him outside and they get into the car. She starts the vehicle, rolling slowly out and starting down the road. About a minute later, the back doors open and shut and Isaac and Erica glare at Laura from the back seat.

Laura winks at Stiles and he has to turn his head to look out the window to keep from laughing.

\-----

As the crowd tapers off after lunch, Stiles sits on the stool behind the bar, working on the newspaper crossword puzzle as Erica gets things to restock the line.

“Excuse me.”

Stiles looks up and sees an older man, maybe in his forties, leaning against the counter. He smiles, a little bashfully, and the expression makes Stiles’ eyebrows climb because the dude is kind of hot.

“What can I do for you?” Stiles asks, only halfway flirting as he sets his pen down.

Erica, hearing the flirty note in his voice, smirks at him and leans out of the back with a leer. She looks the man up and down, raising an eyebrow at Stiles. She takes a breath and suddenly scowls, shooting Stiles a look he can’t read.

He’s about to ask what’s up when the man says, “Is Laura Hale here?”

Stiles turns back to the man and sees a glint of  _something else_  in his blue eyes. Stiles takes a step back, making it look as if it’s casual as he leans against the back counter and crosses his arms.

“I don’t know if she’s here,” Stiles says honestly, since he hasn’t seen Laura for a few hours. He knows if she is here, she’ll definitely be there soon. “Is there anything  _I_  can help you with instead?”

The man’s eyes get a little flintier as he runs his gaze over Stiles, his tone faintly dismissive. “I don’t think so. I just need to speak to Laura.”

Stiles is about to reply back something witty when he sees two college kids by the doors, exiting with their coffee as two men come in and block the doors, waving off a disgruntled looking elderly man who wants to come inside.

The taller of the two men flips the  _Open_  sign to  _Closed_. The shop is now completely empty, save for the three men, him, and Erica.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Erica demands as she strides up to Stiles’ side behind the counter, hands clenched into fists.

The first man gives her a look that sets Stiles’ teeth on edge. “Well, if you tell your Alpha that we’re here, then we won’t have a problem.”

“Are you fucking serious? Look, you shithead  _Hunter_ -” Erica starts, pointing at the man as Stiles wraps his arm around her waist to keep her from lunging across the bar.

_Hunters_ , he thinks, reevaluating the man’s appearance, not really expecting someone so dangerous to look so average, even though he really should know better than to judge someone based on appearance, especially with his current life experiences.

“Well, this  _is_  a treat!”

Stiles sees Laura emerge from the back of the shop with a blank-faced Isaac on her heels. She motions Stiles and Erica from behind the bar and they follow behind her too.

Erica hops up onto the bar, with Stiles standing next to her, leaning against the lip of the wood. Isaac stands on the other side as Laura settles between them.

“Chris. It’s always  _such_  a pleasure to see you,” Laura says, leaning against the bar with a cool smile.

The man, Chris, raises his eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching, but not with mirth. “Laura.”

“Alpha Hale,” she corrects him with a tutting sound.

He narrows his eyes but repeats in a reasonably calm tone, “Alpha Hale.”

Stiles gently nudges Laura’s thigh with two fingers.

She flicks her eyes to him and lets some of the meanness out of her expression. “I didn’t expect to see you today. Forgive me if I’m less than thrilled to see you back in Beacon Hills.”

Chris huffs. “We weren’t expecting it either.” He eyes Laura, Erica, Isaac, and Stiles. “We heard about a string of killings. We were in Oregon so we decided to come check on things.”

Laura snorts. “Not necessary, but thanks for the concern.”

“Regardless,” Chris looks smug as all fuck and Stiles can’t help but frown at him, “the Matriarch would like to speak to you,  _Alpha_   _Hale_.” He makes the title scornful.

Laura’s shoulders stiffen but she rolls her eyes and says in a breezy tone, “Fine, bring her in. Been wondering when I’d see old Aggie again.”

Chris’ voice is solemn when he says, “Agatha died.”

Laura blinks, dropping some of her bravado. “Shit. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I appreciate that,” he says, not really sounding very genuine, and clears his throat. “I believe that your Emissary is supposed to be in attendance. We can wait for Deaton to get here.”

Laura nods. “Considerate of you, Chris, but my Emissary is right here.” She gestures at Stiles and he waves two fingers but otherwise stays silent.

“You got a new Emissary,” Chris states, giving Stiles a strange look.

Laura looks at Stiles and nudges him.

Stiles’ eyes flick to the two men behind Chris. They make something in his animal brain whisper  _danger danger beware_  so he says in a bright voice, “Yep that’s me.” He gives a lopsided smile, his most earnest  _I’m not a threat_  expression, hoping they buy the image of the earnest-and-open-Emissary-in-training.

“How wonderful for you,” Chris replies dryly, clearly dismissing him as a fool.

Stiles cheers internally as Chris turns, disregarding him and making a hand signal to someone outside.

Stiles keeps his eyes on the two men behind Chris, who’ve also seemed to peg him as nonthreatening. He doesn’t like the way they’re looking at Erica now, like they’d love nothing more than to slice her open and examine her insides. It’s not something he likes very much at all.

The front door opens and the men finally tear their eyes away, though Stiles keeps his eyes on them a little longer, cataloging their appearance in case he needs to describe them later.

Stiles turns his attention back to Chris when the man says, “Alpha Hale, may I present the new Argent Matriarch, Allison.”

Argent? 

_Allison_ _?_  

Stiles does a double take when he sees the beautiful and severe looking brunette woman standing in front of him. “Ally?” he blurts out incredulously.

Chris gives him a cold look and Laura shoots him a look too, though hers is more curious.

The woman, the _Matriarch_ , turns and stares, her grim demeanor dropping as she blinks at him with wide eyes and gasps, “Stiles?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!
> 
> \-----
> 
> Please remember: I am not done revising the later chapters of the story. I currently work two jobs and have a very busy personal life so I am not sure when I will finish, only that I will finish it eventually.
> 
> Also: I've left the old chapters "up" still since I don't want to lose the comments, but they are empty of content for the time being.
> 
> \-----
> 
> Btw, with this chapter update, I am breaking 250k total words posted on AO3. A quarter of a million, dude...
> 
> I just want to say, for all the people who read my ramblings, it feels good to know that when I shout out into the void, the void answers back. 
> 
> I appreciate every hit, kudos, and comment. You guys keep me writing and I adore you all so very much.
> 
> kisskiss  
> ♡♡♡♡♡ Scotch


	11. Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if any of you read my other story but I said in the most recent chapter update that I wasn't gonna be able to post anything else due to an event coming up at my job.
> 
> Apparently, I'm a big fat liar because I finished everything on my to-do list today and busted the edits on this chapter out in like, four hours. Idk how it happened - most of the time it doesn't work that way AT ALL and the initial writing part of this chapter was a BEAST - but I'm not gonna look a gift-horse in the mouth.
> 
> So, please enjoy this update and excuse any mistakes.

“ _Oh my god!_ ”

Stiles and Allison rush toward each other and are hugging in an instant, ignoring the growls and guns aimed at them.

“What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t coming for another two days!” Stiles crows as he pulls back to look at her.

She laughs and her Disney-princess dimples come out full force. “Before I could visit, I had to deal with some business. What are  _you_  doing here?” She shoots the men a disapproving look. “The shop was supposed to be cleared of any civilians.”

“I don’t know if I qualify as a ‘civilian’, Ally.” He shrugs with a grin. “I’m the Emissary for the Hale pack, well, temporary Emissary.” He pauses and wiggles his hand in the air. “It’s kind of a trial period, I guess?”

“Temporary Emissary?” She shakes her head. “Oh my god, only you, Stiles.”

“Yeah, yeah. But, you, you’re a Hunter!” He narrows his eyes at her. “I thought you said your dad’s family was into personal security. And what’s this ‘Matriarch’ business about?”

She smirks at him, patting his cheek. “I said they were _hunters_ , didn’t I? I never specified more than that and you never asked, you squeamish ass.”

“Oh ho, you think you’re clever, don’t you?” He tweaks her nose. “You look like you’re trying to give yourself a facelift with this,” he says, pulling at her scary-tight ponytail. “It’s hideous. Sleek, but hideous.”

“I see you’ve finally grown your hair out,” she notes as she runs her hand over his head. “It actually looks nice. Reminds me of-”

“The wig shop in Ireland, I know.” He laughs, patting at his hair. “Less poofy though.”

She laughs too, grabbing his cheeks with both hands. “And without that awful attempt at a beard you had at the time.”

“It wasn’t _that_ bad,” he protests, frowning.

“It was _really_ _bad_ ,” she disagrees, giving him big eyes and nodding.

Several cleared throats have them turning to look at the Hunters and werewolves that are staring at them with varying levels of confusion and displeasure.

“Oh, right! Ahem, Matriarch Argent,” Stiles says, bowing over her hand, “as Emissary to the Hale pack, may I present my Alpha, Laura Hale?” He steps back, leaning against the front of the bar next to Erica who huffs and puts her arm around his shoulders.

Laura inclines her head to Allison. “Matriarch Argent.” She smiles slightly, a little stilted. “You’ve grown up.”

“Kind of you to say so, Alpha Hale.” Allison smiles back, the expression strained too. “I find that ten years tends to do that to a person.”

“True.” Laura nods, tilting her head. “So, I assume you’re here about the murders.

“I am.” Allison nods, perching on the arm of one of the couches. “Tell me what’s been going on.” Her eyes noting the tension in Laura’s shoulders, she adds, “Please.”

Laura’s jaw works but her voice is pleasant when she says, “Two aswangs were in the area, trying to have a child. They needed more food to keep the fetus healthy so they started killing, rather than just scavenging.”

“Aswangs. I’ve read about them but haven’t encountered one before.” Her eyes shine with intent as she asks, “Where are they now?”

Isaac’s smile is sharp and Erica inspects her lengthened nails, a wicked sneer twisting her mouth. Stiles doesn’t try to look intimidating at all, just gives another crooked smile, trying to suppress the urge to shiver as he bumps his head against Erica’s shoulder.

“They’ve been taken care of,” Laura says simply.

Allison’s next smile is slow, but full and slightly feral, very wolfish. “That’s good to know. And the local law enforcement?” Her gaze flicks to Stiles then back to Laura.

“The right people know the truth. It’ll be handled with speed and finesse.”

“Well, in that case,” Allison stands, straightening her short jacket with a firm tug to the bottom, “that should be all then, Alpha Hale. Thank you for your time and apologies for intruding into your place of business.”

“Allison,” Chris intones, giving her a distinctive look that Stiles recognizes as a  _Dad Look_.

Allison confirms it when she says in just as smooth a tone, “Dad.” Her face and voice brook no argument.

Chris sighs and mutters, “I’ll be outside.” He gestures for the two men to exit and pauses before following. He looks at Laura for a long moment before he inclines his head, though he doesn’t say anything, and starts walking.

Laura watches him leave, her shoulders tight again as he flips the sign back to  _Open_. She sighs when the door shuts behind him and looks at Stiles. “You never cease to surprise me,” she murmurs as she walks behind the bar.

Erica hops off the counter and presses a red kiss to his cheek as she heads behind the bar too, giving Allison an assessing look. Isaac trails his fingers across Stiles’ collarbones without a word as he heads toward the back of the shop, most likely to loop around and keep an eye on the other Hunters.

Allison watches and smiles when Stiles shrugs. “What can ya do?”

“Not sure there’s much to be done,” she sighs, looking out the window where Chris sits uncomfortably at one of the outdoor tables, scowling at any passerby that looks at him, sunglasses flashing like judgmental mirrors. The other two Hunters climb into a black SUV and shut the doors forcefully.

Stiles slumps onto the couch and grins as she sits down next to him. “So,” he says, lolling his head to the side to look at her, “what have _you_ been up to since graduation?”

She hits him in the face with one of the throw pillows, grinning at him.

“Do you still want to go to the movies or something while you’re here?” Stiles asks, grabbing the throw pillow from her.

Allison smiles, lifts one shoulder. “I think that’d be fun.” Her smile gets a little impish. “‘Movies’ just like old times? Maybe we can grab some grub too?”

He mirrors her mischievous smile. “As long as you remember that my dad is pretty much the law around here. If we get caught, his cops definitely won’t go easy on me because I’m the Sheriff’s kid.”

She smirks. “Not as easy as Tommy always did, that’s for sure.”

He widens his eyes at her, aware that Erica and Laura are probably listening to their conversation. He doesn’t really want to talk about his early dating life and the disaster it was, lest he give Erica more ammo.

“Definitely not that easy, though if we’re gonna bring  _that_  up, maybe we should talk about Carla?”

She narrows her eyes at him but her pursed lips are lifting in the corners. “Maybe it’s best if we didn’t.”

“That’s what I thought,” Stiles caws smugly, rising and pulling her to her feet.

They stare each other down until they both crack, smiling and wrapping their arms around each other again.

“God, I really have missed you,” Allison confesses into his shoulder. “It’s weird not seeing you every day.”

“I _know_ ,” he says into her hair.

“All this stuff…” she sighs.

“It’s a little much at times,” he offers diplomatically.

She barks a laugh, pulling back and smiling up at him. “That’s definitely true. I’m almost sort of glad that I can finally talk to you about things, though.” She squeezes his waist. “Do you have any idea how many times I almost spilled the beans?”

“I get it,” he reassures her. “I’m glad to know that I have you if I need you. Same, okay? This whole you-being-a-Hunter-thing doesn’t change anything between _us_ , got it?”

She nods sharply, her eyes shining. “Yeah, yes, of course.” She hugs him again, like she can’t help herself.

He holds on tightly, glancing over to see Chris glaring at him from the table outside. “I think your dad hates me.”

She snorts, pulling back. “He hates everyone, Stiles. It’s his thing.” She shakes her head, rolls her eyes, like  _parents, dude_. “I’ll text you later, okay?”

“Sure.” He tweaks her nose again, she pops his hand, and he sticks his tongue out at her as she walks out of the shop.

In the few short steps from his side to her father’s, her body language changes. The carefree, laughing girl is gone and in her place is Matriarch Argent, cool, calm, capable.

It makes him wonder if there’s any change in him when he uses his Spark. He’s not really sure he wants to know what it is, if there is one.

He turns around to the bar, expecting to see Erica or Laura smirking at him but the Alpha is blank-faced and Erica is full on scowling again.

“Whoa, what’s wrong? I thought it was a good thing that I know the Matriarch? Won’t this, like, make future dealings with Hunters smoother or something?” Stiles asks, holding up his hands.

“It is and it will,” Laura supplies, chewing the corner of her mouth. “It’s just hard to be okay with a pack member being so cozy with Hunters.”

“Especially  _those_  Hunters,” Erica mutters, wiping down the counter with a little too much force.

“What do you mean?” he asks, but he has a bad feeling, remembering the conversation from Sunday.

Laura sighs, rubbing her forehead. “Come on, let’s talk out back.”

Stiles follows her out the back door, passing Isaac who actually shifts away from brushing against him which is weird.

When they get outside, Laura perches on an overturned bucket. She gestures him into the folding chair and he settles across from her, trying not to fidget. She blows out a breath, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

“It’s kind of a long story. Do you remember when we talked about Hunters before and I told you that a Hunter burned down our house?”

This is just confirming his bad feeling and he nods a little. “Yeah.”

“The Hunter’s name was Kate Argent.”

Stiles thinks back, remembers Allison being a big advocate for therapy and education about mental illness of all kinds, talking about an aunt of hers who was mentally ill and that had hurt some people. Allison didn’t mention much else about it and Stiles had never asked for more explanation.

He says, “Allison’s aunt.”

Laura nods, clearly a little surprised that he recognizes the name. “The last time I saw Allison Argent, she was twelve years old and calling me a monster.”

Stiles… isn’t really sure what to say. He taps his foot, thinking hard. “Why?”

Laura gives him an ugly smile. “Because two weeks after the fire, I grabbed Kate Argent out of a car on a road in the Preserve and ripped her throat out. With my teeth.” She doesn’t look proud but she doesn’t look like she regrets it much either. “Chris was driving; Allison was in the backseat.”

Stiles sits back in the chair, kind of blown away. “Holy shit…”

“Yeah…” She looks at her hands, the tips of her fingers. “Not my best moment, but I was overwhelmed. The Alpha power, the loss of my family, the responsibility of two of my younger siblings…

“I was only nineteen. I was supposed to be enjoying my sophomore year of college, not taking over the pack and burying almost my entire family. I wasn’t supposed to be the Alpha for a _long_ time.” Her hands clench into loose fists in her lap.

“There was a meeting with the Matriarch, it was Agatha then, Chris’ mother. She decided not to kill me. ‘Blood for blood’ she said and let me go so I could try and pick up the pieces of my pack.” She laughs darkly, shaking her head. “Not everyone was happy but none of them went against her decision.”

“I… I don’t really know what to say,” Stiles finally says. “I mean, I understand that the Argents aren't a good group of people to you, and I can’t speak for the rest of the family, but Ally, _Allison_  is good,” Stiles tries to explain.

Laura raises her eyebrows. “I’m sure she’s a good friend, Stiles, but do you really know her that well? I mean, she’s a Hunter who’s now the Matriarch of the Argent family. You said inside that she never told you what she is.”

“And you have to remember that you guys spent time with me, the whole pack except for you was with me almost all the time in their wolf forms, and never let me in on what was going on until everything that happened… happened.” He reaches out and rests his hand on her knee. “I’m not trying to be an ass, I’m just saying.

“Also Allison is one of my best friends, but you’re right,” he concedes. “I don’t know everything about her and I’m really honestly  _glad_  I don’t. People need some secrets for themselves.”

Laura purses her lips, gives him a long look. “You don’t have feelings for her, do you?”

He laughs, outright laughs, in her face. “No! That’s not, I mean, Allison is _great_ and she’s very pretty and we have a good time together, but no, no, absolutely not. We’re just friends. Plus, I’ve seen what she can do with a knife and I’m not getting anywhere near her like that.”

She doesn’t look entirely convinced, just shrugs and says in an absent tone, “Okay. I mean…” She frowns. “You wouldn’t be the first werewolf to fall for a Hunter.”

 _That’s_  got more backstory to it, he can tell by her dark tone, but he sees she’s done talking about it. “Well, that’s not happening between us,” he assures her.

“Okay.” She takes a few deep breaths and stands, pushing her hair back. “Boyd and Cora are here. You can head out and hopefully get some rest.”

He stands too. “Thanks for telling me. I know that wasn’t easy.”

“Well… you’re my Emissary. You should know important things.” She shrugs and heads inside.

Stiles sighs, rubbing his face. It’s a lot of information to take in so he files it away for later and makes his way back into the shop.

Cora and Boyd are chatting with Isaac and Erica, leaning against the bar. When he gets closer, Cora turns with a frown and takes a deep breath.

“God, you _stink_ ,” she states, sounding like when Stiles first met her.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Yeah, I stink like _Hunter_.”

Cora scowls, her mood clearly just as bad as everyone else’s. “I don’t like it.”

“Well, can I have the keys so I can go home and shower since I’m so offensive?”

“I don’t think it matters,” Erica informs him with a shrug, tossing him the keys to the Equinox. “If she’s visiting and you’re gonna be hanging out with her, you’ll come home smelling like her anyways.”

“Plus the car’s gonna reek too,” Isaac adds oh so helpfully.

“Great, that’s awesome,” he snaps, his ire rising, despite what Laura told him about the history between the two families. “You guys are super helpful.”

For him, Ally is just his friend, not the leader of some family that kills innocents. He just can’t equate the two, though he supposes he’s going to have to.

If he had to guess why it’s bothering him so much, it’s probably because it’s one more thing about his life that isn’t what he thought and he’s so damn tired of it right now.

Already irritated from the moon, he doesn’t fight the urge to be a salty brat when he announces, “I’ll be sure to crash at my house the next couple of days so I don’t inconvenience anyone with my stench.”

Then, like a totally mature adult, he storms out of the shop, ignoring everyone when they try to call him back inside.

\-----

Stiles goes into the pack house and starts up the stairs, still angry despite the time to calm down during his drive.

Muttering under his breath, he doesn’t even notice Derek pop up on the landing until the werewolf is almost right in front of him.

“Shit, Derek,” Stiles says as he jumps, hand on his chest. “You scared the shit out of me. What did I say about wearing bells?”

Derek smiles and opens his mouth to say something but pauses, head tilted as he sniffs the air. “What is…”

Stiles opens his mouth to explain when suddenly Derek is right up against him, sniffing as Stiles backs against the wall. He puts his hands above Stiles’ shoulders and sniffs right where Allison pressed her face when she hugged Stiles earlier.

“Derek, you’re kind of freaking me out by how up in my bubble you are.” He presses his shoulders against the wall to get another inch of space. “Could you back up please?”

The werewolf narrows his eyes but slowly pulls his hands off the wall so he’s not penning Stiles in anymore. He doesn’t take a step back though, so when Stiles stands up straight, they’re only inches apart.

At that moment, Stiles realizes that they’re almost exactly the same height. It makes for very intense eye contact when he flicks his gaze to Derek’s irritated face. “Thank you,” he says softly.

Derek rumbles, “Why do you smell like that?”

Stiles explains patiently, “The Argents paid us a visit at the shop today. They said that they heard about the killings and wanted to make sure that everything was running smoothly. Laura explained what happened and they left.”

“Did they hurt you? Or grab you?” Derek’s heated tone is laced with what could be concern, Stiles thinks, if not for the seething anger that’s lapping at his senses.

“No. They didn’t hurt me.” Stiles holds his arms out, showing that he’s not injured.

“Then  _why do you smell like that_?” Derek repeats, his face twisted with distaste, much like Cora’s.

Stiles squints, wondering if the Argents smell bad in general or if it’s bad memories that taint their scents to the Hale wolves.

His annoyance surges back and his voice is a little sharp when he says, “It turns out that their Matriarch and I went to college together. She hugged me before she left.”

“Why?”

“Why does it matter to you?”

Derek studies him for a moment then asks, “Is that who you were talking to on the phone on Wednesday?”

“Who… Allison?” Stiles thinks about it and, yeah, she did call during their Uno game. “Yeah. That was her. So what?”

Derek’s posture stiffens further, his shoulders tight and almost near his ears. “Well, you seem close. I’m glad you got to see her, then.” The words are right, what Stiles wanted to hear from the rest of the pack, but the intonation is off.

“What’s _wrong_ with you? Is it really that terrible that we’re friends?”

Derek growls when Stiles steps into his space, his face a mask of revulsion. “You can’t trust her.”

Beyond fed up, Stiles crosses his arms over his chest and snaps, “She’s a _good person_. She’s not like Kate, okay?”

At the sound of Allison’s aunt’s name, Derek flinches back like Stiles has struck him. Instead of lashing out or snapping back like Stiles expects, he just shakes his head and walks away.

Stiles watches him and has the feeling that he got when Derek found him in the woods, that they got too close to something painful and Derek dipped because he didn’t want to deal with it.

Or he didn’t want Stiles to be involved.

Whatever it is this time, it leaves Stiles feeling washed out and frustrated when Derek goes out the front door and shuts it firmly, but gently, behind him.

“Dammit,” Stiles curses and goes upstairs to grab his stuff. He’s _definitely_ spending some time at his house for a couple of days. “Dammit, dammit, dammit.”

\-----

The next day, Stiles glances down at the text from Allison and says to the girl behind the glass, “Can I get one for  _22 Jump Street_  at eight, please?”

“Sure thing!” She chirps brightly, taking the twenty he hands her and giving him his ticket and change back. “Enjoy your movie!”

“Thanks.” He moves out of the way and glances into the lobby.

When Allison catches sight of him through the glass, she gives a dorky wave, face screwed up in a hideous smile.

He laughs and shakes his head. When he reaches her side, he says, “I’m surprised you ever got laid in college.”

She sticks her nose in the air and says haughtily, “If it weren’t for me, you’d have  _never_  gotten laid in college.”

“Touché.”

All in all, he has a great time. It reminds him a lot of college and it feels great to be with Allison again, having a speed-walking race to the theater, laughing and commenting on previews, and fighting over popcorn.

It’s so much like the last time they did it in senior year that Stiles almost expects to have to go to the library to study for a test the next day.

What sucks is the nagging voice in the back of his head reminding him that things between him and the pack are messed up.

It’s a bitter note in his happiness but he keeps smiling, snagging the last of the Twizzlers and enjoying the indignant squawk that Allison makes when he hits her in the nose with it before he takes a bite. She steals the other half from him and shows him the chewed up bits in her mouth. He shoves a handful of popcorn in her mouth to join the candy.

When the movie is over and people are leaving the theater, she pulls him close for a picture and tells him to tag her in it and  _yes, the Argent Matriarch is allowed to have an Instagram, it’s not the Dark Ages, Stiles, jeez, plus it’s set to private anyway._

The picture is so perfectly them: Stiles’ mouth is open as he makes a distressed face, eyebrows wrinkled, eyes wide, chin dropped into his neck, her cheek is pressed to his, eyes crossed and bugged out as she makes a fish mouth with her lips.

_How are we possibly still single @ally_ayyyyy? #wearesoattractive #movienight #collegebestie_

Afterwards, they go to the diner that Stiles has been going to since he was a kid and share a plate of curly fries.

Stiles has fun but he keeps having to catch himself when it comes to talking about members of the pack. It’s the first time in the entirety of his and Ally’s friendship that he’s had to hold something back and it makes him feel strange.

“So,” Ally says as they walk toward their cars, linked hands swinging between them, “I was gonna see about crashing with you tonight but since you’re living with your pack…”

“Actually,” he clears his throat, trying not to feel angry about the day before, “I’ve still got the house I’m renting. I didn’t move in completely, you know, just in case.” He shrugs. “So, you could stay with me.”

“Smart man.” Her eyes dance with mischief as she asks, “Wanna get stoned and watch movies and veg out?”

“I am so in love with you, it’s stupid,” he tells her.

“Well, obviously,” she says faux-haughtily, tossing her hair over her shoulder. They both laugh when she stumbles over a lose piece of gravel in the parking lot, ruining the image of her easy grace.

They make a trip to the local Stop-and-Rob and get enough junk food that Stiles is sure the guy behind the counter is certain they’re already high. But he doesn’t say anything, just rings them up with raised eyebrows and sends them on their way.

When they get to Stiles’ house, Allison walks around and looks at everything before pinning him with her gaze. “Who’s house is this?”

“Sarah Stein,” Stiles tells her, dropping all the stuff in the kitchen. “She’s gadding about Europe and I’m renting out her house.”

“Hm.” Allison turns in a circle and smiles. “I kind of like it.”

“Of course you do,” Stiles snorts. “You’re practically a grandmother.”

“Hey, liking floral patterned things and quilts does not make me a grandmother,” she insists, toeing off her boots and flopping onto the couch.

“No, but those argyle socks kind of do.”

“Yeah…” She sighs and looks at her feet, wiggling her toes. “God, I _am_ a grandmother.”

“It’s okay _Mildred_ , I still love you,” he croons as he drops next to her.

“If you tease too much, Granny won’t share her glaucoma medicine with you,” she taunts.

He mimes zipping his lips and she laughs, pulling a bag from her purse and setting everything out on the table, including a pill-bottle the size of his hand that’s filled with weed.

“I can’t believe you’re traveling with that much.”

“Eh.” She shrugs with a laugh as she twists her grinder. “If anyone actually pulled me over and searched my stuff, the weed is the least of my concerns.”

Stiles thinks about that, thinks of what they might find in her bags, and looks at her hard for a second.

After about thirty seconds, she looks up from rolling the joint and raises her eyebrow when she sees him staring. “What?”

It takes him a minute to put it into words, but he finally says, “You’re so much more dangerous than I remember you being. And you’ve always been a badass.”

“Well, I’ve always had the knowledge.” She smiles, but it’s not a happy expression. “I just didn’t use it when I was in school. I closed that part of myself off because it was nice to pretend to be normal for a while. Hanging out with you and getting drunk and going to class… it was so easy and simple.”

Stiles knocks their knees together. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I know.” She sighs and finishes rolling, licking the paper lightly and nodding toward the backdoor. “Ready?”

“Yeah.”

They go outside and, with Allison next to him, Stiles is able to leave the porch light off as they settle onto the bench.

“You know, this actually isn’t a bad little house,” she affirms as she lights up the joint.

Stiles smiles, patting his bench happily. “I like it. It works for me.”

“It’s times like this that I wish I still smoked,” Allison confesses lowly as she holds her breath and passes the joint to him.

“I know. I only ever really want a cigarette when I’m getting high.” He takes a deep drag, holding his breath before blowing it steadily up in the air. “We were terrible for each other when we tried to quit.”

“God I _know_ ,” she laughs, taking the joint back. “It got to the point that I’d want a cigarette every time I saw you.”

“Well, I’ve been known to drive people to drink, why not smoke?” he jokes.

Allison snorts but her eyes are gentle as she passes it back, aware of the root of the joke and that this is Stiles’ way of healing, still, after all this time.

They fall into an easy silence after that, each taking a couple more hits before Allison puts the leftover joint into a small metal cigarette case.

“Tell me what it’s like in the pack,” she suggests, then adds, “as Allison, not Matriarch Argent.”

He looks at her and she shrugs.

“I can tell you were holding back in the diner. I’m not going to take anything you tell me and use it to hurt your pack, Stiles, I promise.”

He says, “I know,” because… well, he does. Allison would never do anything to hurt him, that much he knows is true, no matter what people in her family have done in the past.

“It’s nice.” He slips further down so he’s slumped with his head on the cushions. “I really like everyone in the pack.”

“And your Alpha? Does she treat you well?”

“She does.” He folds his hands over his stomach and finds himself relaying the entirety of what’s been going on since graduation. “And then you showed up at the shop, all decked out in leather and looking dangerous and beautiful, and all Hell broke loose.”

“God, Stiles,” she whispers, looping her arm through his, “what a fucking mess.”

A laugh bursts out of him and she laughs too.

“God, I’m so glad you came. I missed you so much,” he tells her, holding on to her arm and bumping their heads together gently.

“I know. I’m pretty fucking amazing,” she agrees, nodding. Her expression grows serious as she says, “There’s just one more thing.”

“Okay.”

“Are you happy?”

He thinks about it for a moment. Sure, he’s irritated with the pack right now, but he can also understand where they’re coming from. Other than that, things have been going well with them and his Spark and his writing, even though most of the time he wants to set his work on fire and just be done with it.

“Yes,” he tells her, then he amends it to, “yes and no. Some days are good, some days are less good, but the people I love are healthy and happy, and that’s enough for me.”

“That’s all that matters.”

After a moment, Stiles’ stomach growls. He’s suddenly ravenous and he remembers that they have food in the house. “I have the _best_ idea.”

Allison lolls her head toward him, her smile sloppy and happy. “What?”

“We should eat ice cream,” Stiles declares.

“Oh my god, yes!” Allison moans, slapping at his knee. “But first!”

“Comfy pants!” they sing in unison, warbling and off-key, as they stumble into the house and split up to change.

Clad in gym shorts and a shirt he stole from Scott years ago, Stiles scrolls through the movies on his laptop and hovers over one. “I’m getting another good idea…”

She flops down on the couch and drops a pile of junk food on the table. “Tell me, tell me!” she demands as she pulls her leggings up so they don’t cover her knees.

“We need to watch _Death Becomes Her_.”

“You, sir,” she declares, pointing at him, “are a genius! Absolute genius!”

It’s as good as the first time they watched it together, shortly after the beginning of freshman year when they bonded at a party over being the only two to have seen _Mystery Men_. Better, now, since they’re old enough to each have a beer next to their pile of junk food and there aren’t any assignment deadlines hovering over their heads.

After the movie’s over, Allison hits the space bar on Stiles’ laptop and turns so she’s facing him, back against the armrest. She pops open her ice cream again, taking a big spoonful and biting into it like the savage she is.

“So,” she mumbles, ignoring his shudder at her strange eating habits, “what’s the deal?”

He mirrors her pose and grabs his ice cream too. “What do you mean?”

“Who’s the guy?”

He _knew_ she latched on to that earlier but he still tries to play stupid. “What guy?” he asks lightly.

“ _The_ guy!” she insists through another full mouth of ice cream. “The one you were talking about before.”

“You are so gross,” he tells her, shaking his head and taking a smaller bite of his ice cream.

She waves her spoon at him. “Psshhhh, you _love_ me.”

“I do,” he agrees, “but you’re still gross.”

“Point!” She nudges him with her foot. “Come _onnnn_. Tell me about the guy!”

“I don’t really know if there’s anything much to tell.” He bites his lip and admits, “We kind of had a fight yesterday.”

“About?”

He winces and says, “You.”

“What?” Her eyes get wide. “Oh! Shit, I’ve totally cock-blocked you!”

Her horror makes him laugh. “It’s not like that. At least, it was for him initially but then I explained… I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I think it had more to do with the fact that you’re a Hunter than anything else.” He decides not to mention the family aspect of it but Allison nods like she gets what he isn’t saying.

“Shit, if he’s in the Hale pack, I don’t really expect him to like me much.” She taps her feet up and down, nudging his leg. “I hate that it’s causing you problems though, babe.”

“Yeah, well, if they don’t like my friendship with you, they can just deal with it. I’m not giving up who I am to be part of their pack. And…” he takes a deep breath, “if they ask that of me, then, well, maybe I shouldn’t be their Emissary.”

She hums, giving him a look.

“What?”

“You’re just as dangerous as I am, even without the arsenal.”

He snorts. “Somehow I really doubt that.”

She shrugs. “You don’t have to believe me but people have different strengths. Yours is just inside versus my outside.”

“When did you become so philosophical?”

“Mmm, probably when I went home after graduation and was told, in no uncertain terms, that it was time to take up my mantle and rule.”

“Queen Ally Cat.”

She grins and he can imagine her with a deadly crown, despite her messy curls and over-sized t-shirt. “Has a nice ring to it, no?” she half-sings, wiggling her spoon in the air.

“To Queen Ally Cat. Long may you reign,” he announces and raises his ice cream container in a toast.

She knocks her ice cream container against his. “Hear, hear!” She smiles and takes another bite. “You know, it’s a shame that the werewolves got you first. I could have totally used an advisor. Someone I know I can trust.”

He blinks at her and shakes his head. “I can still advise you, dumbass.”

“Yeah,” she concedes, rolling her eyes, “but I’d rather have you around.”

“Well, we all have to go our own way eventually,” he drawls with an attempt at mysticism.

Allison’s snort tells him he didn’t succeed. “That was pretty lame.”

“God, I know.” He laughs and shakes his head. “Deaton is so much better at the calm and mysterious thing than I am.”

“Hmph, I don’t know about all that but,” she puts her ice cream on the table and flops on top of him, “I like you just the way you are.”

“Thanks Ally,” he laughs, putting his container on the floor and wrapping his arms around her. After a moment, he asks, “Think I can queue up Netflix from here?”

“Give it the ol’ college try!” she cheers, face smooshed against his chest.

Eventually, after some wiggling, they manage to get Netflix going. They fall asleep watching Friends, just like old times.

The next morning, they eat breakfast on the back porch and talk about his writing and send pictures to Scott telling him he sucks because he’s not there. After a while longer, Allison’s phone starts vibrating and won’t stop.

“My dad,” she says when he makes a curious sound. She sighs, scraping her hands through her hair and pulling it up into a tight bun, her armor already slipping back into place. Her smile is bright and just a little tired when she declares, “No rest for the ruler.”

Stiles’ heart is heavy as they walk outside, hands linked again, and head to Allison’s SUV. Heavy for himself and heavy for her too.

She looks around at the front yard and the trees and smiles. “I always forget how pretty it is here. I should get a place and then I’d have an excuse to see you more.”

Stiles winces, squeezing her hand. “Yeah, probably not the best idea.”

“I get it, I get it. _Politics_ ,” she sighs, nodding. After a moment of silence, she says, “Growing up is weird.”

“Tell me about it.”

They hug for a long time, Stiles inhaling the scent of her hair and feeling the way her hands clutch at his shirt, the way she holds her breath and presses her face against him.

“Call me more, okay?” she asks into his collarbones.

“Yeah, you too,” he tells the side of her head.

“Tell the Parentals I say Hi.”

“I will.”

When they part, they grin at each other, ignoring any watering of eyes. Stiles waves as she backs out and pulls down the road, taking a piece of him with her and leaving him centered in a way that he hadn’t realized he’d needed until he saw her.

The only thing better than seeing Ally would have been if Scott could have visited.

Regardless, now he’s ready to talk to his Alpha and his pack. He doesn’t foresee it being a very fun conversation. A necessary one, but definitely not fun.

He sighs and pulls out his phone.

Laura picks up on the third ring, her voice pleasantly neutral. _“Hello Stiles.”_

“Hey Laura. Are you at the shop?”

_“No. Working on the yard at home. What’s up?”_

He scuffs at the grass with his bare foot. “We should talk, I think, about the other day.”

She hums. _“I agree. Meet me for lunch around one?”_

“Sure. See you then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!
> 
> Please remember: I am not done revising the later chapters of the story. I currently work two jobs and have a very busy personal life so I am not sure when I will finish, only that I will finish it eventually.
> 
> Also: I've left the old chapters "up" still since I don't want to lose the comments, but they are empty of content for the time being.
> 
> kisskiss  
> ♡ Scotch


	12. Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, y'all... this chapter is just, like, a lot. 
> 
> Emotions everywhere!!!
> 
> Hope you enjoy haha :)

Stiles walks around the side of the pack house, following the sound of the lawnmower. He sees Laura chugging along, bouncing to whatever music she’s got playing through her headphones as she pushes a junky-looking red machine in a mostly straight line.

She catches sight of him and lets go of the handle, silencing the growling engine. Popping her earbuds out, she flicks her eyebrows at him and says, “I made quiche. You hungry?”

“Uh,” Stiles shakes his head, “not really.”

“Well I am,” she declares. “We can chat while I eat.”

Stiles follows her in and snags a stool at the counter, watching her cut up and heat a slice of quiche that does actually look really good.

“So,” Laura says, propping her elbows on the counter while the microwave turns, “what’s on your mind?”

“Allison.”

“Mh, yeah, I figured,” Laura sighs. “Well then, spill.”

Stiles takes a deep breath and states, “It really bothers me that everyone hates Allison. And the thing is… I get it. As much as I can.”

Laura purses her lips. “I don’t think it’s that anyone _hates_ her, more like… she makes them uncomfortable because of who her family is.”

“Fair.” He taps his fingers on the island. “But regardless, she is my friend, one of my best friends, and I’m not really telling you that you have to be okay with her.”

“No?” Laura asks blandly as she opens the microwave before it beeps, pulling the quiche out and setting it onto the island between them.

“No, I’m asking that you be okay with my choice to associate with her because I don’t have any plan to stop unless there’s a legitimate reason. She deserves more than that and so do I.”

“Well, I admire your loyalty,” Laura tells him, cutting into the quiche. “I also respect your decision.” After taking a bite, she twirls the fork in her hand. “I just have to ask that you try not to get upset with the pack if they don’t immediately accept your relationship with her. I need you, as our Emissary and our friend, to understand that it may take them a while, if ever, for them to be truly okay with it, no matter what they may say.” She looks at him. “Is that going to be a deal breaker?”

Stiles shakes his head. “Allison is _my_ friend. I don’t expect everyone in my life to always like each other. True, it would be easier if we all got along, for my sake, but I get that it doesn’t always work like that.” He sighs. “I just don’t want to feel like I’m hiding anything from you guys when I spend time with her or communicate with her.”

“Well,” Laura mulls, “I guess the best way to say it for now is that I know you’re going to spend time with her and, while it makes me a little nervous, I understand that you know what you’re doing.”

Stiles sighs in relief. “I appreciate that.”

“It’s what I can do for now and maybe, somewhere down the road, we can all find a way to be okay with each other.” She takes another bite and shrugs. “Either way, I trust you to make good choices.”

Stiles laughs. “God, can I get that in writing to show to my dad?”

“Sure. Not sure how much my opinion counts to him, but I can even get Isaac to notarize it.”

“Isaac’s a notary?”

“Someone in the pack needs to be.” Laura asks, “Why not Isaac?”

“I don’t know that I ever thought about it,” Stiles admits, laughing. “But I guess it would have its advantages.”

“It does.” She grins at him. “Another advantage of our pack is having someone to help weed-eat while I finish mowing.”

Stiles glares at her. “You mean me, don’t you?”

“Sure do. How about it? Wanna help out your Alpha?”

“Ugh, fine! But only if you save me some quiche for later.”

“That I can do,” she promises, glancing back into the kitchen towards the almost-closed door of the laundry room before ushering him outside. “There’s weeding to do, too.”

Stiles groans and she laughs, slinging her arm over his shoulders and rubbing her hand over his hair.

\-----

Stiles’ talk with the pack is remarkably short, sweet, and to the point.

On Tuesday, he finds them all in the kitchen and announces, “I want to be your Emissary and I’m still going to be friends with Allison. If that doesn’t work for you, then let me know. But, I swear to you, my relationship with her has nothing to do with my oath to this pack.”

After a moment, Isaac snorts into his oatmeal and Cora drawls, “A little dramatic, don’t you think?” She ignores when Boyd throws a napkin at her, just raises her eyebrows at Stiles frown.

He figured if anyone would have issues with his and Allison’s friendship, Cora would be right at the front of the line. “You guys are really calm about this.”

“Obviously, we talked to Laura,” Cora informs him, waving her hand in the air.

Erica smiles at him and clarifies, ticking off points on her fingers, “She’s different from the rest of the family, you’re willing to give us as much time as we need to understand that, it’s okay if we don’t want to be friends with her, and we need to learn to trust you and your judgement since you’re our Emissary.”

“We’re all adults here, despite how we act sometimes,” Boyd says.

“But she still smells bad,” Cora adds. “That part I’m not willing to budge on.”

The rest of them murmur their agreement and Stiles rolls his eyes, dropping into his chair at the table and snagging some bacon from the middle, glad that the matter is settled for the time being at least.

Mostly, anyway, considering there’s one pack member missing.

\-----

Stiles didn’t realize how much he’s gotten used to Derek’s presence until he doesn’t see the other man, at all, for almost a week. It bothers him because he knows that Derek is avoiding his pack and his home in an attempt to avoid _him_.

The other pack members pointedly don’t bring Derek up at all in conversation and it seems like they’re used to this: Derek holing up in his cabin when he doesn’t want to deal with something.

Stiles still feels like it’s his fault.

Saturday, he has to go see Deaton because he’s sort of shedding magic. It flies off of him in small purple sparks that don’t catch anything on fire, thank god, but a few of the pack have stepped on the sparks and got mildly burned.

After Deaton _oh so_ _helpfully_ tells him “It’s not the end of the world. Stop being upset, meditate more” – yeah _thanks_ he didn’t think of that – he ends up working on some more _creative_ ways to use his Spark.

He plays around with calling items to himself from further and further away, manages to levitate himself a good three feet off the ground, and draws a line around himself that Deaton tries to break. He’s got a little more work to do when it comes to personal warding, but overall, the line holds up against most of what the vet tries.

He ends up spending most of Sunday outside by the pool in a hammock, reading his Emissary book with his headphones on. He tries not to think about anything, really, just to chill out and relax.

_Stop being upset, meditate more._

When he’s not reading, he’s slipping into trances and skipping along the wards, shivering along the energy lines until he finds himself back in the hammock. It’s exhilarating and also very centering, dammit.

Stiles is sure Deaton knows it worked and is sitting in his office, smug beyond all reason, the cryptic bastard.

\-----

_Cora stomps her way through the trees, across the yard, onto the porch, and through the open door where Derek is standing, sort of bemused, in the kitchen of his cabin._

_“Good morning, Cora, please come in,” he says sarcastically._

_He expects a smile or even an eye roll. Instead, she puts her finger in his face, a thunderous expression twisting her features. “You are ridiculous, Derek Nathaniel Hale!”_

_“And why is that, Cordelia Marie Hale?”_

_She lifts her lip in displeasure. “Ugh, you’re not supposed to ‘whole name’ me back! You’re ruining it!”_

_He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, you’re not Mom so I don’t know why the hell you’re using_  my  _whole name to try and shame me or something.” He turns to the sink and starts washing out water cups._

_She huffs and stomps one of her feet. “This is fucking stupid, Derek!”_

_“You started it!” he insists, looking over his shoulder at her._

_She raises her arms in the air and says, utterly exasperated, “Not_  this  _situation! Jesus! The situation with you and Stiles!”_

_Oh,_  that.  _He scowls, turning back around and focusing on the cups. “That’s not really any of your business.”_

_“It’s everyone’s business, Derek.” She frowns. “I don’t know what you did but he’s fucking miserable and is barely talking to anyone. He’s practically shedding magic and those sparks_  hurt _.”_

_“And that’s my fault?” The question lilts higher at the end with his disbelief._

_“Yes! He said that you two,” she puts derisive emphasis on her next words, “‘had words’ about him hanging out with Allison.”_

_Derek stares down at the sink, his hands tightening on the mug he’s holding. “Is that all he said?”_

_“Yes. He said he didn’t have anything else to add about it then didn’t say anything for, like, four hours. He smells weird and angry and sad.” She frowns at the look that he gives her. “What?”_

_“Did Laura really know that they were hanging out?” he asks, a part of him a little skeptical that Laura could have possibly Okayed it, even after hearing their conversation last week when he was stuck in the laundry room._

_Laura totally did it in purpose, talking to Stiles while Derek was folding clothes, he just_ _knows_ _it._

_“Of course she did. Stiles talked about it in front of Laura and Erica and then mentioned it again in front of all of us.” She crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. “We weren’t exactly receptive, obviously, and it bothered him. But we’ve all talked about it and settled things, except for you. That’s why I’m here and I’ve got all the time in the world.”_

_Derek hums, picking at a dot of paint on his hand. He’s silent for a while before he mutters, “I was upset about it too.” And hurt and shocked and nauseated._

_She sighs, leaning against the counter. “What happened?”_

_He rolls his eyes toward the ceiling. “I walked out.”_

_“Figured as much. You’re not exactly King of Conversation on a good day.”_

_“Shut up,” he snaps and throws a cloth at her. “I’ll talk to him, okay? Apologize for being weird or whatever.”_

_“Apologize…” She grunts, tapping on the counter for a moment before she says, “You should explain things to him instead, tell him why you were upset.”_

_He doesn’t like the sound of that. He raises his eyebrow at her._

_“Kate,” she clarifies softly. The look she gives him isn’t filled with pity, but it’s still gentle, for Cora. “Tell him what happened.”_

_It makes him shift with discomfort, well, that and the topic at hand. He tries to deflect. “Why should I tell him about Kate?”_

_"Because he needs to know the whole story. Laura told him that Kate set the fire but nothing else."_

_"Well, then it sounds like he knows what he needs to already."_

_Her eyes harden a little. “You know what I mean, Derek.”_

_He grits his teeth. “I don’t see why I need to explain anything further. That doesn’t have anything to do with him.”_

_She blows out an annoyed breath. “He’s friends with Allison, Derek, and that’s not going to change. She’s really important to him. If you want him to understand why you were so angry, you_  have  _to explain, at least a little. Otherwise, he’ll just think you’re a dick who doesn’t like his friend because of something someone else did.” She looks at her fingernails. “And I happen to know that you don’t want him to dislike you.”_

_He glares at her. “You seriously need to mind your own goddamn business, all of you.”_

_She gives him a saucy smile. “Kinda hard to ‘mind our own goddamn business’ when we can smell what we can.”_

_“That’s exactly what I’m talking about!” he points out, throwing a hand in the air._

_“So you like him. Big fucking deal, Derek! It’s not a crime!” she cries, clearly irritated with his stubbornness. “He’s pack, he’s a good person, and he isn’t planning on killing our loved ones! I don’t know why you’re fighting this so much!”_

_“Because the last time I was seriously interested in someone, they_  did  _kill our family!” he finally yells, fully done with the line of conversation. “What don’t you get about that?”_

_“I’m not telling you that your feelings aren’t valid! You have every right to be leery of being with someone!” she yells back. “I’m just saying,” she lowers her voice down to a reasonable level, takes a breath, “you could give Stiles an_  actual chance _._

_“You wouldn’t be able to have anything meaningful with him without telling him eventually anyway. It just ended up happening that it’s coming up sooner rather than later. If you don’t give him a chance to take the information in and make his own decision, you’re ending the relationship before it can even start.”_

_Derek stares at her, jaw working as he processes her words. “I don’t… if it didn’t work, it would make things weird in the pack,” he asserts weakly._

_She shrugs. “Yeah, and if Boyd and I were to break up, it would be weird for a while. Same for Isaac and Erica. If you let_  that  _stop you, then you’re just letting the ‘maybe’s and ‘what-if’s fuck you over.” She pauses and then hits him hard with, “You’re ruining something that has the potential to be really awesome because you’re too afraid to take a chance. You should have the chance to be happy, like the rest of us.”_

_He voices the worry that the tiny, nasty voice in the back of his mind whispers. “What if he isn’t even into in me?”_

_She scoffs. “Now_  that  _is just stupid, Derek.” She pushes off of the counter. “I have to go. I have the morning shift.” She moves into his space, hugs him and rubs her cheek against his chest. “I know I’m a bitch but I need you to promise you’ll think about what I said. And,” she pauses, “I’m sorry if I stepped over my boundaries. I just want you to be happy and… I’m not good at this sappy shit.”_

_He nods, squeezing her a little before he lets her go. He watches her leave, trailing after her and stopping on the porch as she makes her way across the grass. When her form fades into the trees and he can no longer hear her steps, he blows out a breath._

_She’s right. He needs to talk to Stiles._ _And it’s gonna fucking suck._

\-----

Wednesday, Stiles works the morning shift at the shop with Cora. She studiously maintains the “not mentioning Derek thing” except for one thing. Somehow, Derek comes up and she scoffs, saying that Derek’s run off to be “weird and alone” in his cabin, whatever that means.

Stiles just blinks at her then takes out the trash. When he gets back inside, she leans next to him at the register and rubs her cheek against his shoulder in what he thinks may be a silent apology for mentioning it at all.

It makes him feel worse because Derek is her brother and her pack mate and she shouldn’t have to stop talking about him to save Stiles’ feelings. Plus, that’s not what he wants anyway. He’s silent due to guilt and misunderstanding, not anger.

Overall, his mood is shit.

That night, Cora and Isaac jockey for his attention while he’s reading in bed, thrusting their noses under his hands and pawing at the book on runes. Eventually, he just gives up, closes the book, and rolls around in the bed with them. Erica ends up joining in about halfway through. Stiles’ room ends up in total shambles when Boyd decides to play too.

He falls asleep with his arms draped over them, but wakes a few hours later from a messed up dream of trying to talk to Derek while the other man just stared straight through him, completely unresponsive to his existence. It leaves him shaky and Erica gives him a soft look, licking his cheek and nuzzling closer.

He hooks his arm over her and falls back asleep. He doesn’t dream anything else.

On Thursday, after a particularly busy morning shift at the shop complete with snappy and rude customers, Stiles locks himself in the library, puts as much intent as he can muster into making the room sound-proof, and has a little stress-relieving temper tantrum, things flying around the room as his Spark flares and he growls irritably into his hands.

After his tantrum, he’s sitting on the floor, surrounded by fallen books and some broken glass. He checks his hands and arms, makes sure he’s not cut, and starts putting everything back together again. He’s got mountain ash all over him again and, instead of fighting it back into its bottle, he decides to use some of his frustrated energy for something positive.

“Who wants to try and catch me?” he calls as he hits the foyer dressed in gym shorts, a t-shirt, and sneakers, mountain ash clinging to his limbs under his clothes.

Everyone pokes their heads out of various downstairs rooms.

“Are we playing hide and go seek?” Laura asks.

“More like, Find the Stiles.” He leans forward, grabs his foot to stretch his leg.

“Ooh, I love this game!” Erica claps happily.

“What do I win?” Cora asks, tying her hair up into a ponytail.

“Nothing.” He shrugs. “Or bragging rights, I guess.”

“Excellent,” she says, grinning.

“Give me five minutes,” he says, heading out the door and into the yard. He hops in place for a moment before charging into the trees, twisting and ducking his way through them. He can’t move through the woods the way the werewolves can but he’s not terrible.

He trails his fingers over different trees and rocks, loops back, turns in circles, spits on a cluster of mushrooms, just generally gets his scent all over everything, and finally stops when he gets to a tree that’s perfect for climbing.

He scrabbles up the trunk and settles on a thick branch, breathing a little heavily. His muscles burn beautifully and he can feel the giant grin slipping onto his face. He watches the stars come out as the moon climbs, a slender crescent shining in the sky.

The wolves run past his tree a half dozen times before they pinpoint his location. He grins down at Isaac, Erica, Cora, and Boyd staring up at him so he doesn’t hear Laura sneaking up on him through the branches until it’s too late.

“Gotcha!” she whispers, eyes suddenly glowing at him from the end of the branch.

He jumps with a startled shout. “Fucking a, Laura, you’re so goddamn quiet!” he says, feeling something like pride, clinging to the tree trunk and grinning at her.

She waves him off, ducking her head in faux-bashfulness. “Stop! You’re gonna make me blush!”

“Shut up. You know you’re good.” He shakes his head and starts climbing down.

“Comes with the territory,” she informs him as she follows.

“Alpha territory?” he asks as he reaches the ground and the other pack members try to get close enough to swarm him. They keep bouncing off his mountain ash shield and he laughs.

“Nah,” Laura states as she drops to the ground next to him. “Big sister territory.” She grabs Cora around the ribs and hefts her into the air. “Been sneaking up on people for years.”

Cora growls and tries to wriggle free from Laura’s hold, her reddish fur looking dark brown in the shadowy woods. Laura finally releases her and says, “Race you back.”

Stiles laughs. “Yeah, no deal. But I will run back  _with_  you if you’re willing to adjust your pace.”

“We’ll make you faster, just give it time,” Laura promises as she takes off through the trees.

“Joy,” Stiles huffs as he takes off after her, the pack stringing between them, jaws open, tongues lolling in glee.

When they make it back to the house, he scrapes the mountain ash into a new jar before joining them in making massive sandwiches. They bring those, five bags of chips, and four two-liters upstairs and watch an episode – or seven – of Friends. They demolish the soda and all of the chips.

The next morning, he wakes up as the sun is barely breaking through the trees, his room cast in grey light. He glances down and sees two furry cover-stealers sprawled next to him. He just rolls over and stretches his limbs over them and goes back to sleep.

It’s getting so that waking up with wolves in his bed doesn’t even faze him anymore.

When he wakes up later, the wolves are gone but Derek is sitting in his window seat, looking out the window at the woods.

Stiles knows Derek is aware that he’s awake by the tensing in his shoulders. He chooses not to say anything, just shuffles around until he’s sitting up and stretches his arms above his head. He groans at the tightness in his muscles, the good kind of burn from the long run through the woods. When he’s done, he drops his arms and looks full on at Derek who’s now staring at him.

He stares back, not willing to be the first to say anything. After a few minutes, Derek sighs through his nose and looks back outside.

Stiles is perfectly willing to continue the silence. It’s only as he climbs out of bed and starts walking toward the door that Derek says anything.

“Wait.” The word isn’t a command so much as a soft plea.

He stops, looking at Derek. When the werewolf doesn’t say anything, he rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Good talk, Derek.” He starts for the door again.

He heads to the bathroom then decides to take a shower since he thinks he can smell potato chips from when Isaac and Cora had split the bag of sour cream and onion and it rained all over him. He feels more awake when he’s done, so he hums while he brushes his teeth and tosses some product into his hair.

When he walks back into his room, towel around his waist, Derek is still sitting on the window seat. He scowls and walks over to his dresser, digging through his clothes. He carefully slips a pair of boxers on under his towel before dropping it and pulling on shorts.

Derek blurts, “She _smells_ like Kate.”

Stiles turns around and frowns at Derek who’s finally turned away from the window and actually looking at him. “Well, she’s  _not_  Kate,” Stiles finally replies.

“I know that,” Derek snaps before smoothing his hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I… I _do_ know that. It was just really unexpected to smell that again and I… reacted badly.”

“Look, I know that Kate was the one who destroyed everything you loved and she was a terrible person. She was fucked up mentally, probably a sociopath or something. I can’t even begin to imagine what losing that much felt like for you. But Allison is  _not Kate._  She’s nothing like her from what I know.”

Derek stares down at his clasped hands, saying softly, “People have secrets.”

Stiles sighs heavily. “Yeah, they do. Everyone has secrets. But Allison isn’t interested in killing you guys, she just wanted to make sure that everyone was safe.”

Derek snorts. “I’m sure that that’s the only reason she came to Beacon Hills.”

“God, Derek, what do you want me to tell you? She was coming to see me too, while she was here.” He remembers Laura’s question, asking if he and Allison were romantically involved. “Don’t tell me you’re actually worried about me being involved with her.”

Derek’s head snaps up. “What?”

Stiles shakes his head and turns back to his dresser. “A couple of days ago, Laura obviously told me some stuff, explained that Kate was the one responsible for the fire, and asked if Allison and I were romantically involved. I said no, of course, because Allison and I are  _friends_  and nothing else. I’m just wondering if you’re gonna bark up the same tree.” He turns with a grin at the dog joke but the expression slips off his face when he looks back and sees the panic in Derek’s eyes. “What? What is it?”

“Did Laura say why she asked you that?” His voice is low with tension.

Stiles drops his shirt onto the top of his dresser and takes a careful step towards Derek. “No. Is there a reason she should have?”

Derek huffs, looks away again, and shakes his head. “Not really.”

“Derek,” Stiles says, trying to get the werewolf to look at him but he won’t. He tries again, “Derek.”

His eyes flick to Stiles’ for a moment before moving away again.

“Look, it’s probably none of my business what happened. But if it’s something that you think you should tell me about Allison or her family that you think will keep me and the pack safe, then I need to know.”

Derek gives him a look and shakes his head, before growling, “I thought I loved her.”

“What?” Stiles tries to keep the shock out of his voice but Derek’s narrowed-eyed gaze proves he didn’t do a very good job. “Allison?”

Derek gives him a withering look. “No, I thought I loved  _Kate_ , in the way that all sixteen year olds think they’re in love. With another kid the same age, it could have been love, but Kate…” He shrugs.

Stiles does the math in his head, jaw dropping a little as what Derek is saying sinks in. Ten years older than Allison, more like a sister than an aunt. “She was twenty-two.”

Derek nods, staring at the floor again.

“Did she…” Nausea twists his stomach. “I mean, were you two, uh, intimate?” Stiles cringes as he asks the question, both fearing the answer and needing to know.

Derek shakes, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “She kissed me a lot and we almost did... more… a couple of times, but nothing else happened. All the rest was hand-holding and daydreaming, talking about how we could bridge our families one day, make things peaceful once and for all.” He laughs and it’s a sharp, dark sound.

On one hand, Stiles is relieved that nothing else happened, but on the other, clearly whatever did happen messed Derek up enough that smelling Allison on Stiles had thrown him into panic mode. Trauma is all about perception, he recalls.

He takes a deep breath and moves a little closer, sitting on the end of the bed across from Derek.

“So what happened?” he asks, leaning back on his palms to leave more room between them.

“She said that she wanted to be able to reach me, just in case she had to leave town suddenly. There was no guarantee that I’d get her message in time in an emergency or whatever. I fell for it. I told her how to get to the house through the woods, that we never really locked the sliding door since the little kids didn’t really know how to work the latch.”

He shrugs, easy tone belying his next words, “So one night, while Cora was at a sleepover and I was at a party and Laura was away at school, she bound the perimeter with wolfsbane and lit the whole house on fire.”

Agony and sorrow hit him like a fist in the gut. Stiles holds his eyes wide, trying to keep the tears gathered in the corners from falling down his face. He doesn’t say anything, just lets the anguish wash over him in tiny waves, keeping his elbows locked to stop his hands from trembling. His lips are drawn in firmly to keep from gasping, or sobbing, he’s not sure which.

Derek blinks rapidly and takes a wheezy breath. He shoots to his feet, leaving the room before Stiles can really think of a way to respond.

Stiles just sits there and lets his head fall back. He stares at the ceiling for a minute or two before he blinks hard, finally letting the tears fall down over his temples to run through his hair. He keeps his eyes closed for a little bit, taking in the emotions whipping over him.

Clarity is the last one that comes through clearly for him and he sighs, flopping back on the bed and rubbing his hands over his face.

Around one, before he leaves for the shop, Laura walks into the kitchen with Boyd, the two of them discussing supplies for the shop. She stops and tilts her head at him, but doesn’t say anything. She can probably smell Derek and that Stiles was definitely with him or ran into him at one point.

He doesn’t say anything either, just slurps his cup of noodles and gives her a blank face. She rolls her eyes and continues her conversation with Boyd, who eyes him too, but also doesn’t say anything either.

Stiles thinks over what Derek told him during his entire shift. When he and Cora start back to the house after closing, he taps his thumbs on the steering wheel, stares up at the red light in front of them, and asks in a light tone, “Where’s Derek’s cabin?”

From the corner of his eye, he sees her whip her head to stare at him. She mumbles, “Oh thank god.” She then says, louder, “It’s actually not far from the house. I can show you when we get back.”

“Mmkay,” he agrees and lets the subject drop as the light changes.

\-----

_Derek can hear people approaching the cabin, headed over from the direction of the house. He waits, hand paused over a canvas, and listens._

_There’s a small jingle that sounds like keys, then one set of footsteps moving toward the cabin and one set, way quieter, moving away._

_He puts his brush down and wipes his hands on a cloth before he strides to the back door, peering out into the barely illuminated backyard._

_Stiles walks toward him from the trees, hands in his pockets, all nonchalance. His heartbeat is even and regular, which is strange to Derek since he’s used to the rabbit-fast pace it usually has._

_Derek leans on the porch rail and waits for Stiles to say something… anything, really._

_He remembers Cora’s words and takes a deep breath._

_What ends up coming out is, “Aren’t you going to tell me it wasn’t my fault? Say that I was just a kid and she manipulated me and that I didn’t do anything wrong?”_

_The words drip from his mouth like acid and he realizes that this is precisely why he had such a problem with what Cora said on Wednesday. She failed to acknowledge that he had anything to do with Kate killing everyone, when he_ _absolutely_  did.

_“It was my fault. I told her… I let myself think I loved her even though she never smelled of anything other than amusement when we were together!” His chest is heaving and his hands have sprouted claws where they’ve wrapped around the wood railing._

_Stiles just shakes his head slowly, rocking forward on his toes. “No. I’m not gonna say any of that.”_

_Derek jerks back, eyes wide. Of course. Stiles isn’t his family, is only newly pack… he doesn’t have the obligation to lie to him. He mumbles, “Oh.”_

_Stiles continues before he can spiral too badly. “I’m not going to say that because, even though it’s true and it’s_ _not_ _your fault,” Stiles gives him a firm look, “I know exactly what it’s like to know that because you made one choice that you shouldn’t have, one choice that would have been so innocent in a different situation, someone you loved died.”_

_Derek stares at him. “What are you talking about?”_

_“Did your family come to my mom’s funeral?” Stiles’ tone is deceptively light and it makes the hairs at the back of Derek’s neck prickle._

_Derek frowns, trying to focus. “No, I don’t think so. I know my mom sent flowers but we didn’t go.”_

_“So you don’t know how she died.” That light tone is really weird and it rankles something in Derek._

_“I didn’t really think about it before. After we met, it didn’t seem like an appropriate question to ask,” Derek bites out._

_Stiles sneers at him. “Yeah, it’s not really. But I’ll tell you anyway.” He lifts one shoulder, lets it fall. “It was my fault.”_

_Derek scowls in disbelief, listening for some hint of a lie but there is none, just a steady gaze and a calm heartbeat. He jerks his chin for Stiles to continue._

_“When I was eight, I was obsessed with this toy train. It was just a stupid blue train engine but I thought it was great and it was my favorite. Well, my mom was going on a trip to visit my aunt and I wanted to make sure she wasn’t lonely in the car, so I left my train in the floorboard of her car to keep her company, because in eight-year-old logic, that makes sense._

_“Well, while she was driving, there was a really bad accident in front of her. She tried to stop the car but there was something lodged under the brake pedal and too much traffic on either side for her to move without hurting someone else. She slammed into the side of a tractor trailer going seventy-three and died instantly.”_

_By the end of the speech, his tone is still airy, but his jaw is clenched and his heart has picked up. Derek can see where his hands have clenched in his pockets._

_Derek stares at him. He swallows, trying to think of what to say. “How did you find that out?”_

_“One of the deputies was talking about it at the station about a month after it happened. I kinda lived there for a while, hiding in different cabinets while my dad worked. He probably figured it was safer than me staying at home alone. Plus, I kept everyone on their toes I think.” He waves one of his hands. “Anyway, he was saying that it was a shitty thing, an unhappy accident, but it really killed me to hear that, to know that my toy killed my mom. It was because of_   _me_ _that she died.”_

_Derek shakes his head. How could Stiles possibly think that? The loving thoughtfulness of a child, trying to give something to his mother to keep her company… it wasn’t his fault. Shit just happens sometimes. It… wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t his fault._

_He coughs out a laugh before he can tamp it down. He slaps his hand over his mouth and laughs again into his palm._

_“What the hell dude?” Stiles asks, the corner of his mouth climbing, seemingly at the sight of Derek’s amusement. “It’s not funny.”_

_“No, no, it’s not. I’m sorry,” Derek says, holding out his hand. “It’s just… that was not what I was expecting.” He sobers, standing up a little straighter. “The thing is that now, all I want to say to you is… that it wasn’t your fault.” He gives Stiles a look, raises his eyebrow. “Which is precisely why you told me what happened.”_

_Stiles points a finger-gun at him with a wink. “Got it in one, Smarty Wolf.”_

_Derek frowns. “Don’t call me that.” Stiles laughs at him, the little shit. “You don’t still feel like that, do you?”_

_Stiles shrugs and ambles up the porch stairs. “Some days I do. Some days I don’t. It’s never going to be something that’s easy for me to accept but I do know that it was just a shitty thing, like the deputy said.” He stops a foot away and gently pokes at Derek’s shoulder. “Do you really think everything was your fault?”_

_Derek sighs, shaking his head a little. “I don’t know. I… I guess not, not all the time. It’s like you said, some days it’s easy to only blame Kate, other days… not so much.”_

_Stiles nods, rocks a little on his feet. “So, can I see some of your art? You know that’s what actually made me look into the windows at the shop the first time I ever went there?”_

_Derek eyes him, not sure what to say, but grunts an affirmative, gesturing for him to go inside the small cabin. He watches as Stiles moves through the mud room then into the one large room that makes up the rest of the cabin._

_He watches as Stiles idly trails long fingers over a dent in the counter, the scuffed top of his chair, before resting reverently against the edge of his drafting table._

_“This stuff is so cool,” he mutters under his breath, picking up various pencils and brushes and texturing tools. He leaves the table and walks around the room, slowly inspecting each standing easel with a painting on it._

_Derek feels like he’s been sliced open, insides exposed. Their conversations over the past twenty-four hours have laid him pretty bare, but as Stiles moves through his cabin and runs those honeyed eyes and spindly fingers over his work, it’s a little hard for him to breathe._

_Stiles’ voice snaps him from his contemplation. “I’m sorry.”_

_“Thank you.” He clears his throat. “Me too. I mean, I’m sorry.”_

_Stiles smiles over at him then turns back to the painting he’s working on for a man whose dog passed away. “I really appreciate you telling me what happened. I know you didn’t have to. It’s not my business.”_

_Derek sighs a little, wishing the rest of the pack had boundaries like Stiles, though if Cora did, he wouldn’t even be speaking to Stiles at all right now. He pushes the thought away. “Yeah, well, you needed to know, I think.” He moves away from the wall and back to his chair, perching on the edge of the seat._

_He’s nervous, a little weirded out by someone being so thoroughly in his space, much less_  Stiles.  _Stiles who now knows a lot more about him than Derek expected him to, though to be fair, Stiles was quite open around him when he was ‘Shadow’ so he doesn’t really have a leg to stand on._

_It’s the attraction, he thinks, that’s the problem. If Stiles was just the Emissary, was just a person who was new to the pack and was in his space, it wouldn’t be as bad._

_But he_  isn’t  _just that and_   _Derek_  is  _attracted to him, has been for a while._

_“Still,” Stiles continues, “I appreciate you telling me. It makes it easier to, uh,” Stiles hesitates, purses his lips, before he seems to settle on, “understand.”_

_Derek nods, words dried up in his throat, not that that’s unusual._

_Stiles finally moves away from the paintings and Derek feels like he can breathe again. “You should come back to the house tonight. We’re having meatloaf. I know it’s your favorite.”_

_The corner of his mouth lifts. “And how do you know that?”_

_“I pay attention.” Stiles smiles and it’s a sweet thing, soft and slow and a little crooked. It makes Derek’s stomach swoop._

_“Okay,” he answers, standing and grabbing his phone. He follows Stiles out the door and locks it behind them._

_“I have to warn you,” Stiles says as they make their way across the grass, “I have pretty shitty night vision so I’m probably gonna trip over something.”_

_Derek snorts. “Can’t you use your Spark to make a light?”_

_“Pssh, yeah, but why bother when I’ve got someone who can pretty much see in the dark to guide me.”_

_“Is that a dog joke?” he growls out._

_Stiles laughs, a slight tinge of nerves in his scent. “Not intentionally, but it’s a pretty good one, right?”_

_Derek rolls his eyes and has to resist the urge to shove Stiles into a patch of saplings. He resists though. With his luck, Stiles would end up breaking something._

_They get back to the house and enter through the back door, making their way into the kitchen with Stiles in the lead, Derek hanging back a little as he wipes his bare feet off with a towel._

_“Stiles!” Erica calls out gleefully. “Come try the potatoes and tell Boyd that I didn’t put too much garlic in them!”_

_“I said an_  impartial  _judge, Erica,” Boyd rumbles, shaking the water out of a large head of lettuce._

_“Stiles is_  always  _impartial when it comes to food,” Stiles proclaims as he takes the spoon Erica hands him._

_“Stiles needs to stop talking about himself in third person,” Isaac sing-songs as he enters the kitchen, “because it’s creepy. Hey, Derek.”_

_The other two turn to him and stare for a second before turning back to their tasks, though Derek can see Erica’s pleased smile as she leans next to Stiles and waits for his reaction. Boyd’s expression doesn’t change but he does seem more at ease as he efficiently chops the lettuce and throws it into a massive salad bowl._

_Laura enters the kitchen as Stiles pronounces that the potatoes_  are  _a little garlicy but that the gravy will probably thin the flavor a little bit for the people who don’t like it._

_“Hello Brother,” she says when they meet at the sink._

_“Hello Sister,” he replies as they both start to wash their hands._

_“All settled?” she asks softly, just loud enough for him to hear._

_He flicks his gaze over to where Cora is reaching around Stiles to try and put her finger in the potatoes while Erica squawks. Stiles smacks Cora with the spoon, leaving potatoes on the back of her hand._

_“Lick that off if you want a sneak preview. No fingers in the mashed potatoes, Wild Thing,” Stiles scolds her._

_Cora growls and flashes her eyes but does lick the potatoes off, albeit a bit sulkily. “Garlicy,” she says, smacking her lips. “I like it.”_

_“See!” Erica crows, pointing at Cora as she shoots Boyd a look. Stiles bursts into laughter and Isaac rolls his eyes, turning to pull the meatloaf from the oven._

_Derek turns back to Laura and raises his eyebrow._

_She raises hers back and murmurs, “Good.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, what a monster this chapter was...
> 
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> Please remember: I am not done revising the later chapters of the story. I currently work two jobs and have a very busy personal life so I am not sure when I will finish, only that I will finish it eventually.
> 
> Also: I've left the old chapters "up" still since I don't want to lose the comments, but they are empty of content for the time being.
> 
> kisskiss  
> ♡ Scotch


	13. Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, guys, this is it, when the number of the chapters is actually gonna match up to what's posted!!
> 
> AHHHHH!!!
> 
> (please excuse any mistakes & enjoy!)

After he and Derek talk, Stiles ends spending some time at the cabin almost every day.

On Saturday afternoon, he debates whether or not he should go over. When he gets home, he gets out of the car and heads into the woods. He pauses at the edge of the clearing and almost turns around but Derek opens the back door.

They stare at each other for a moment until Derek jerks his head and walks away from the door, leaving it open in what Stiles hopes is an invitation. He trots up, poking his head in, and sees three blank canvases set up next to each other.

“Whatcha working on?” he asks quietly, leaning against the counter and running his fingers over the dent there, skin catching a little on the ragged edge of the wood.

“Commission. The mayor wants a birthday gift for his daughter,” Derek answers, most of his attention on the paints he’s mixing on his palette.

“Cool.” Stiles sticks his hands in his pockets, a little lost. He psyched himself up enough to get out here and now he really didn’t have anything to do. “I’m gonna walk a little more, just wanted to stop in and say hey, I guess.”

Derek nods a little, still not looking at him. “Okay.”

“See ya later.”

There’s a slight pause but Derek calls back, “Later Stiles.”

Stiles smiles as he walks back to the house. It feels like a step towards… something.

The next day, he stops by again. This time, the door is already open so he raps his knuckles on the doorframe before stepping inside.

“Hey dude,” he greets.

Derek, pencil in his mouth, mumbles, “Hey.” If possible, he seems more distracted today, clearly more focused on his work than feeling awkward.

Stiles feels kinda bad, like he’s bothering Derek.

Just when he’s about to buzz off, Derek takes the pencil out of his mouth and says, “If you want, you can sketch or something.” Without looking away from his canvas, he points to a stack of sketch pads with the plastic still on them. “There’re pencils and pens in the cup there.” He gestures to the table with all of his supplies on it.

“Uh, yeah, okay. I’m not sure how good they’ll be so this should be fun.” Stiles grabs one of the books and a pencil and pen. He looks around inside before he heads out to sit on the porch in the sun. He has to shift around every so often because the wood planks make his ass go numb, but overall he doodles and fills a few pages before the sun starts to go down.

When he can barely see, he stands up and pops back inside. “Hey, I’m gonna head home. My turn to make dinner and I need to do some stuff before I start cooking.” He holds up the sketchbook. “Is there some place you want me to put this?”

Derek takes the book from him and places it carefully on a shelf filled with other books. “It’ll be here if you want to use it again. It’s yours now.”

Stiles smiles, oddly touched. “Thanks man. Uh, you gonna be at dinner?”

Derek nods with a small smile. “Sure. I’ll see you there.”

“Cool.” He heads out, idly rubbing at his ass cheek as he walks into the woods. Damn it’s still a little numb.

When he gets to the cabin on Monday afternoon, Emissary book in hand, there’s a hammock set up on the porch. He glances inside and sees Derek focusing very intently on what he’s working on, his shoulders a tight curl in front of the three canvases.

“Thank you,” he says as he settles into it. He chills out in the hammock for a few hours until the sun goes down again and he can’t see to read. Before he heads off the porch, he calls, “See you at dinner.”

“Yeah!” Derek calls in affirmative.

Tuesday, he ends up ambling over around ten, unsure if Derek is even there. The door is closed but the hammock is still on the porch so he lays back in it, using the tip of his shoe to rock back and forth. He slips into a meditative haze and lets his mind wander.

Later, he hears the back door open but nothing else. He cracks an eye and sees Derek looking down at him, face a little perplexed. He lazily waves a few fingers before dropping his hand back down on his stomach.

Derek rolls his eyes but he’s smiling a little when he goes back inside. He leaves the back door open and Stiles can see straight into where he’s painting, not that he’s staring or anything. He closes his eyes and basks in the breezy, slightly overcast day until his phone buzzes, letting him know that he has to leave for his shift.

“Bye Derek,” he calls.

“Later.”

He goes and trains with Deaton on Wednesday and Thursday, getting the basics for the full bonding ceremony down. He’s nervous. Deaton reassures him, ever patient, that he’ll do fine. On Thursday evening, he gets home and runs into Derek in the kitchen.

“Hey man. Headed out?” he asks as he leans against the island. Derek nods. “Cool.” Stiles picks at the fruit bowl. It’s probably annoying how much he shows up at the cabin. He knows it’s supposed to be where Derek goes to be by himself.

“Well?”

Stiles looks up, confused. Derek inclines his head toward the door, raises an eyebrow, and Stiles grins. He hops up and follows Derek outside. They walk silently, side by side, to the cabin, where Stiles follows Derek in, admires his progress on the commission, then flops onto the hammock with a sigh of pleasure.

Friday, he locks himself in the library and pours over his book in between long periods of meditation. In the morning, around ten, there’s a knock on the door. He opens it and finds a tray of waffles, laden with whipped cream, scrambled eggs, bacon, and coffee. In the afternoon, there’s another tray with soup and two sandwiches. At night, he’s given a heaping bowl of chicken pot pie that’s so good, his eyes almost cross when he tastes it.

By the time he falls into bed around midnight, he feels like maybe everything’s gonna go swimmingly.

\-----

It’s stupid hot outside on Saturday, the humidity so bad that the air feels as thick as soup. He’s dripping sweat by the time he hits the clearing of trees in the back yard. He slogs up the stairs and into the cabin.

There are fans running on the floor and the windows are open. It’s blessedly cooler than outside and he sighs at the difference.

“Stiles,” Derek greets, a slight tension in his spine that Stiles figures is the full moon pulling at him.

“Hey man. I know you’re probably not looking for company but I am going to kill the rest of the pack if I have to be around them much longer,” Stiles explains, leaning against the counter and pulling the hem of his shirt to try and get some of the air on his skin.

Derek huffs a laugh and turns back to the almost finished canvases. “That bad?”

“Dude, they were fine yesterday, didn’t bother me at all. Someone even brought me food, which was awesome. But today, oh man. Erica won’t leave me alone but she won’t come and sit with me. She just keeps watching me from the hallway. It’s so creepy. Cora and Isaac have been fighting, loudly,  _all_   _morning_ , and Boyd… Boyd is just a quiet, rumbling lump of disapproval that makes going into the kitchen extremely uncomfortable. And Laura is just chilling by the pool, so utterly Zen, like none of it fucking gets to her.” He throws his hands into the air.

“The moon gets to everyone differently,” Derek offers, delicately painting accents on a tree.

“I can imagine. I feel way more irritated than usual. Most days, that stuff wouldn’t even get to me. It’s just  _so annoying_  today.” He rubs his hands over his face. “Can I just… collapse here for a little bit? No one will bother me here.” Stiles pauses. “I mean, if  _I’m_  not bothering  _you_  by being here.”

“You don’t bother me, Stiles,” Derek assures him.

“Awesome.” He looks around. There’s only the one chair in the whole place, the one Derek’s sitting in, and no other furniture besides the table. He goes to the clear area in the middle of the floor and just lies down. He mutters, “It wasn’t this bad last full moon.” He looks over at Derek when the werewolf chuckles softly.

Derek shrugs one shoulder, bared by his tank top, and Stiles has to remind himself to focus on Derek’s  _words_. “It’s the bond. Laura warned all of us.”

“Yeah, well, I’m looking forward to when it’s settled.” Stiles closes his eyes, relishing in the way the fans blow over his skin from four different directions.

Right before he falls into a trance, he hears Derek take a  _very_  deep breath and mumble, “You and me both.”

\-----

Sunday, everyone is back to normal, whatever that means. Stiles, on the other hand, is so wound up that he feels like he’s going to shake himself apart, his Spark an intense blaze inside of him. His head is pounding, his bones are vibrating, his hands are sore from clenching them, and his lips hurt from how much he’s bitten them.

Derek takes one look at him when they all sit down for breakfast and shakes his head. “You’re with me after this,” he informs Stiles as he drinks his coffee.

“’Kay,” Stiles agrees, leg shaking so badly that the plates on the table rattle minutely. He ignores the looks the others give him and just focuses on finishing his food.

As soon as they get outside, Derek flicks him on the forehead and takes off into the woods toward the cabin, flashing him a cheeky grin as he goes.

Stiles growls and chases after him. 

By the time they get to the cabin, the trek made up of loops and over-laps, Stiles feels less like he’s going to explode and more like he’s going to die. He collapses against the porch rail, glad that it rained the night before and broke the heat, but cursing the mud and leaves coating his calves and feet.

Derek leans next to him and hands him a water bottle, asking, “Better?”

He chugs the entire thing before he gasps out, “Yeah, thanks.”

“Now you’re going to nap,” Derek informs him.

“Am I now?” he asks, massaging his left leg and grimacing.

“Yep.” Derek puts one broad hand against the back of his neck.

Before Stiles can even react to the touch, his body slumps as every ache he has fades into muzzy cotton-like fluff. He stumbles and Derek’s other hand takes hold of his arm to guide him gently to the hammock.

“Sleep tight, Emissary,” Derek says with a smile.

Stiles thinks he slurs some sort of reply but he’s not sure.

\-----

Just like last full moon, when they’re all done eating, everyone heads out into the yard together.

As before, Stiles ends up facing Laura with the rest of the pack around them. This time, though, Laura doesn’t have a red marker in her hand. Instead, her claws are out, shining in the moonlight.

“Spark Stilinksi, this past moon, you have taken the first steps to permanently become part of us. We accept you as our pack. We accept you as our Emissary. We wish for you to become fully ours, as we are fully yours. Do you wish to continue to be part of us? To wholly bind yourself to us?”

Something inside him clicks with her words. Despite any trepidation he’s felt before, his answer is easy: “Yes, Alpha Hale, I do so choose.”

Laura reaches out and takes his left hand. She traces the spot where she drew the triskelion last month with her finger before following it with her claw. It burns and he has to fight to keep from tensing up and moving, not wanting to mess her up. When she’s finished, she holds out her arm for him to take.

The part that he’s been nervous about for days follows. He takes a deep breath, laces their fingers together, and pulls her hand back, baring her wrist. He calls his Spark up and thinks of his ward mark, fixing it in his mind. He calls it forth and presses his fingers into her skin, heat and energy crackling between them.

Laura hisses lowly but doesn’t move, though her eyes flare red. When he pulls his fingers away, there’s a perfect imprint of his mark.

She looks at it and smiles at him, mouth filled with her wolfy teeth. She smooths her fingers over her arm with reverence. She reaches out again, circles her fingers around his pack-marked wrist gently. She pulls her hand back and presses the blood to her chest, over her heart.

Stiles’ knees almost buckle but he manages to stay on his feet when it feels like the base of his chest is opening up, connections running from him to Laura and through the pack and then back to him.

The feedback causes the rest of the pack to start to shift, groaning and trembling, and Stiles has to close his eyes to ground himself when another wave of magic rolls over him.

Laura waits until he opens his eyes, lacing their fingers together. “Run with us.”

The way she says it –  _run_  – like it means more than the definition of the word, makes Stiles think of the pack’s fluid grace from the last full moon. He gives her a significant look and gestures at himself, particularly his bare, human feet. There’s no way he can move the way they can and keep up.

She lets Alpha-red bleed into her eyes. “With me. Come on.” Her first tug on his hand is gentle, prompting him into motion. The next is stronger, encouraging his shuffle into a trot. By the third tug, he’s jogging alongside her and he sees the rest of the pack moving with them, running through the trees on either side.

Her gait shifts and Stiles, still hand-fast with her, feels the difference. Where he would normally probably falter at this point, his mind focuses on the thick reddish thread that feels rooted in the very center of his sternum, and his legs move in a way he’s never felt before, his body dropping into a rhythm that he’s never known.

It’s like he’s become water, flowing over branches and through breaks in the trees.

He hears one of the pack let out a joyous howl and the others follow suit. He feels the vibrations all the way to his toes, the sound reverberating through the ether. His mind is in seven places at once – Stiles is himself and all of them too. As they all move as one, he notices that the trees seem to lean down to brush their leaves against Laura’s skin, to caress her hair.

The earth is broken open and waiting for them to take, to devour.

Beacon Hills belongs to them and it lives and breathes under the touch of their feet and the brush of their skin and the reflections of the stars in their eyes.

They move along paths that most have never seen, through groves and brush and toward the lake where Stiles learned to swim as a small child. He and Laura come to a halt at the edge of a ledge above the water. She squeezes his fingers and moves forward in a dart, pulling him with her as she plunges into the water.

At the bottom of the drop, Laura’s hand is lost from his grip and he shoots to the surface, breaking it with a gasp. He moves toward the shore, feet resting on the bottom in the waist-high water and watching the pack romp together in the moonlit water.

Laura settles next to him and watches as the others play. He looks at Laura with a breathless laugh tingling on his lips and her eyes flash bright blood red again.

She puts claw-tipped fingers under his chin and around his jaw, gently moves his face to look into the surface of the lake, at his reflection.

His eyes hold the moon in them, perfectly round and filled with silver light.

He looks back up at her and she smiles, tipping her head back and letting out a magnificent howl. The pack echoes the sound, filling the air with their eerie, exquisite music.

While the others are still baying, Laura looks at him, jerking her chin.

As she drops her head back to let out another cry, he tips his head back and joins her. He’s not sure where the sound comes from but it’s pretty and deep and his Alpha seems to like it just fine.

Their entwined voices scream across the water and fill the woods and his blood absolutely  _sings_  in his veins, like fire and light and heat twist under his skin.

Beacon Hills belongs to the pack and now, it belongs to him too.

\-----

The next day, he wakes up in a slight panic from weight pressing him down. A hand rubs at his hair with the absent soothing of someone who’s still asleep and he calms enough to realize that the pressure is just from several naked limbs.

It says something about what his life is now that the realization calms him rather than worries him more.

He manages to dislodge enough appendages that he can prop himself up on his elbows and look around. The pile of them is tangled together in the nest. He takes in the skin around him covered in splotches of mud and leaves.

He taps Erica’s thigh to make her move and she does with a tiny grumble, rolling over and snuggling up to Laura’s side. Dislodging Isaac takes little more effort as the curly-haired man is sprawled with his back across Stiles’ lower legs, mouth hanging open as he lightly snores.

Once he wiggles his calves enough that Isaac snorts and curls up, moving to rest his head on Erica’s stomach, he discovers that the real problem with moving comes from Derek’s arm resting over his hips, the other man’s face mashed into his side.

He stares at Derek’s back, the way the triskelion tattoo rises and falls with Derek’s breathing. He bites his lip then gives in to the urge to gently run his fingers through Derek’s dark tangle of hair. The werewolf makes a pleased sound, pushing his face closer and rubbing his nose against Stiles’ skin, dragging his mouth too on the last two passes.

It makes him realize that he needs to get up  _now_  because Derek’s arm is dangerously close to his crotch and he’s just as naked as all the werewolves are, which doesn’t really make sense since he’d been wearing shorts and boxers before they started running.

Feeling like he woke up in Vegas, Stiles presses his hand to his face and takes a deep breath, willing away any inappropriate thoughts the best he can. He takes Derek’s hand and lifts the heavy arm, wiggling his way free and putting Derek’s hand down to rest on the pile of pillows he’d been laying on. When he gets to his feet, he glances back and sees Derek has wrapped himself around the pillow Stiles had his head on, pressing his face against the fabric.

It makes that little Derek-shaped  _thing_  inside him bloom with warmth. He shakes his head at himself and goes to take a shower.

When he’s dressed, he makes his way down to the kitchen. He pauses in the doorway, watching as his pack mills around, dressed in varying combinations of pajamas and regular clothes. There’s a strong feeling of contentment rolling through the threads and he places his hand against his stomach softly, sending his own happiness back through the ties, before walking in and stealing a piece of toast from Erica’s hand before she can take a bite.

She trips him and he falls into Boyd making the other man fling applesauce everywhere as his arms jerk from the impact, the majority of it landing in Laura's lap. Her eyes glint dangerously as she stares down at it.

He ends up having to take another shower after the food fight that ensues. Luckily, he wins the Rock-Paper-Scissors game against Cora so he only has to do the dishes. He wishes her luck as she uses the mop to clean food off the ceiling and she flips him off.

\-----

While he’s gliding in the cabin hammock on Tuesday, something lands gently on his stomach. It’s solid enough to make him jerk up, startled. He sees his sketchbook resting on his middle. He looks up and sees Derek smiling down at him. He holds out the cup of pencils, pens, and markers, shakes it a little.

“I know what you’re doing,” Stiles informs Derek as he accepts the cup.

“And what is that?” Derek’s tone is light, the friendliest since the first time Stiles talked to him.

“You want to make me an  _artist_ ,” he hisses the last word like it’s evil and makes a claw with his free hand.

Derek huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “You got me.” He nudges the hammock and sends Stiles swinging again. “Keep drawing.”

“Did you look at them?” he asks, hesitating to open the book. There isn’t much, just several pages of doodles and some runes he fiddled around with, maybe a half-assed sketch of his own face from memory and a small attempt – or seven – at drawing Derek.

“Of course not,” Derek answers immediately. At Stiles’ curious expression, he explains, “It’s  _your_  sketchbook. I’ll look if you ask me to, but otherwise, no.”

“Oh, cool.” Stiles fiddles with the edge of the book. “Why so adamant that I need to keep drawing?”

A small line appears between Derek’s eyebrows as he tilts his head just a bit. “Your heartbeat… it’s really steady when you draw. Your, uh, scent is different too, has more ozone in it.”

“That’s my Spark, I think,” Stiles supplies.

“Well, you smell strongly of your Spark when you draw.” Derek shrugs, tosses a hand and says like he doesn’t care, “It’s probably good for you or something.” It reminds him of Cora and he always likes seeing the little family resemblances.

Stiles nods somberly, trying not to smile. “Thank you. I appreciate you looking out.”

“Someone has to,” Derek says in a haughty tone, disappearing back inside.

\-----

The next week or so falls into a rough sort of rhythm. He wakes up with wolves in his bed, has some morning cuddles, and eats breakfast. He works at the shop and he reads. He spends a lot of time at the cabin, either in the hammock or sprawled on the floor like the day before the full moon. He eats dinner with his dad and Melissa a couple of times, finishes a few more chapters of his book, figures out some new things he can use his Spark for, talks to Scott on the phone for a little bit.

It’s kind of blissfully perfect, though there’s one small  _something_  that nags at his mind.

Or, that is to say: one six-foot-tall, gray-green eyed, black haired  _something_.

All the time he’s spending with Derek is just making it harder and harder not to say anything. He’s trying his best not to be a creep and does his best to keep his thoughts to himself, lest his scent change enough for it to be noticeable or something.

Derek is just so…  _attractive._  Physically, yes of course, Stiles has eyes. But, to only name a few things: it’s the dry humor, the rolling eyes, and the really hella bad RBF that Derek rocks that makes him so appealing.

Still… Derek has a past and he’s got to respect that. He does his level best to be fun and funny and also quiet and solid.

If Derek were to be the one who initiated it though then maybe…

He decides to wait for Derek to make a move. Yes, he decides, if Derek initiates something, then that means he’s comfortable enough and Stiles is all about him feeling safe and ready, after everything that he’s been through.

He feels good about the decision.

\-----

 _Derek is sure Stiles isn’t doing it intentionally, spreading his scent so efficiently through the entire damn place every time he visits, but his cabin is taking on the scent of_  StilesandDerek  _rather than just_  Derek _, mingling his_  pineraincharcoal  _scent with Stiles’_  papergrassozone.  _Though, lately, Stiles’ scent has been edged with low-grade arousal, so that added to their combined scents…_

_It shouldn’t smell good._

_It smells_  really  _good._

_It’s making him incredibly twitchy. Before, he could maybe blame that on the full moon, but now, the itch between his shoulder blades is back.  He’s pretty positive at this point that it has something directly to do with Stiles._

_He shrugs his shoulders, shakes his head, and keeps working on the commission for the woman at the wine shop. He takes deep drags of breath through his nose and thinks he can almost taste their combined scents on his tongue._

_He abruptly drops his brush into a cup, pulls off his shirt, and goes for a run in human form. He leaves the door open, hoping that combined with the already open windows will air the place out._

_When he gets back, an hour and a half later, panting and sweaty, the smell is diminished enough for him to be able to work again._

\-----

Stiles decides, a couple of days before the new moon, that he needs some outside perspective. He pulls Erica into the library Saturday night and wards the room for silence.

“I need to ask you something.”

She eyes him but says, “Okay. What’s up?”

He sighs, rolls his eyes at how much he’s about to sound like a middle school kid, and asks, “Does Derek find me attractive?”

She... laughs.

“Rude,” he chides, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Oh god, Stiles, seriously?” she gasps through her laughter.

“What? I’m asking for a very important reason. For  _science_ ,” he insists.

She snorts. “Yeah, alright.” Her laughing tapers off and she wipes tears from under her eyes. “Okay, okay, sorry. I’m good.”

“Then answer me!” he hisses, impatient.

“Stiles,” she rests her hand on his shoulder and makes serious eye contact, “he thinks you're super attractive and wants you something fierce.”

He stares at her, brain slow to process her words. When it clicks, he can feel the silly grin slip onto his face.

“God, you are so gone.” She shakes her head. "Well, now all you have to do is tell him it's mutual.”

“What?” he squeaks.

“Seriously, it's not that hard. You've done crazy amazing things since you got home. Telling a guy that you like him can't rank that high on your terror list.”

He squirms under her gaze.

“Oh honey.” She pats his cheek and gives him a sympathetic look before sauntering from the room.

Despite the daunting prospect of talking to Derek, he possibly does a very brief, incredibly tiny happy dance before he follows her out. 

_Possibly._

_Very_  brief.

\-----

_Derek wakes up slowly, blinking blearily at the ceiling in his room as he becomes fully conscious. He feels slow, almost like he’s drugged, though it’s not nearly as bad as he felt last new moon. He takes a deep breath, letting a full-body stretch overtake him._

_When the stretch is over, he flops back, boneless, and just lays there, drifting in and out for a while._

_He opens his eyes again, he’s not sure how much later, when he smells coffee and hears shuffling in the kitchen._

_His whole body seems to want to cling to the mattress but he manages to push himself upright and to his feet, pulling on sweatpants. He debates the shirt before he decides that he just doesn’t care and tosses it onto the bed._

_He slumps into the kitchen and pauses for just a moment when he sees Stiles at the stove, back to the doorway._

_“Coffee’s ready,” is Stiles’ sleepy greeting, waving the spatula without looking at him._

_Derek grunts, making his way to the coffee pot and pouring himself a mug. He drinks half of the cup, leaning against the counter a few feet from Stiles and blinking into space, before he asks, “Where’s everyone else?”_

_Stiles waves his hand toward a bright green piece of paper stuck to the fridge._

Gone for breakfast. You losers wouldn’t wake up. <3 us

_“Obviously, they didn’t really try,” Stiles grumbles, sliding pieces of French toast onto two plates next to some fruit, bananas and grapes. He hands the plate with bananas on it to Derek as he walks over and sits in one of the bar stools._

_“Thanks,” Derek mumbles, walking over and standing across from Stiles at the island counter. “How did you know I was home?”_

_Stiles lifts one shoulder then says, “I just knew.” He pours a giant circle of syrup onto his plate and starts eating his French toast with his fingers, licking the sticky syrup off his fingers between each bite._

_It makes the next sip of coffee a little difficult to swallow, though Derek manages not to choke. He clears his throat and copies Stiles, picking the toast up with his hands and dipping it into the puddle of syrup on Stiles’ plate._

_“Hey,” Stiles warns, pointing, “I’ve talked to all of you about eating off my plate.”_

_Derek just grins widely, letting his teeth elongate just a little. He likes the way Stiles’ heart beats just a little faster._

_“Wild thing,” he mutters and pulls his plate closer._

_Derek flicks out a claw and spears a slice of banana, popping it into his mouth and chewing with a smile._

_Stiles watches him through narrowed eyes, slowly eating his grapes._

_It makes Derek smile and he leans forward a little, placing his forearms on the counter top. Stiles’ eyes flick down to his collarbones and the sweet scent of arousal spikes suddenly, making Derek’s wolf rumble in interest._

_He behaves himself, somehow, reaching forward and taking Stiles’ empty plate from in front of him and bringing both dishes to the sink. He turns the water on, starts washing them, but half of his attention is on Stiles._

_He feels like rubbing himself all over the other man. He takes a breath, tastes Stiles’ desire in the air, and has to stop himself from smashing his face into Stiles’ neck when he suddenly appears at Derek’s side._

_“Uh…” Stiles starts then stalls, scratching nervously at the back of his neck._

_Derek doesn’t say anything, just lets Stiles stand there and shuffle from foot to foot for almost two minutes. He needs to hear what Stiles has to say before he does anything at all._

_“I… uh…” Stiles yanks at his hair and puffs out a breath before he blurts, “I wasn’t gonna say anything, really, because I was waiting for some sort of sign before I said anything, but I, uh, just need to say this while we're alone and I didn't want to do this at your cabin, but uh, I know that I haven’t really known you very long as a person, but I think you’re really great, Derek, and I like you a lot.”_

_Derek gently sets the plate and the sponge down, rinses his hands, and turns, stepping closer, watching as Stiles’ pupils dilate slightly at his proximity._

_“You like me,” Derek says softly, dropping his voice down to see the way Stiles’ eyelids flutter with the sound. “That’s good,” he smiles as Stiles does. “That makes me liking you too less awkward.”_

_Stiles steps closer and threads his long fingers through Derek’s hair. “This is real, isn’t it?”_

_Derek laughs, shaking his head a little. “Why do you ask?” His stomach flutters as Stiles tightens his hold slightly._

_“Because last new moon, you touched me and all I could think about was your mouth and your hands,” Stiles murmurs, eyes on Derek’s mouth so he probably doesn’t see how Derek’s knees have started shaking. “I feel half-crazy with how much I want to be near you so I’m not quite sure if this is real or if this is a dream.”_

_“Only half crazy?” Derek’s gaze is on Stiles’ mouth now too and it feels like everything that’s happened since that first night that he couldn’t get settled in his skin is rushing toward them like a freight train. Derek is happily standing on the tracks, blinking into the blinding lights with a smile as the train screams towards him._

_Stiles tightens his fingers more and though Derek feels like his reaction should be ‘ow’ what comes out of his mouth is a soft moan as his mouth falls open a little, relishing in Stiles’ hold on him._

_Stiles doesn’t acknowledge the jibe. His breath catches a bit in his throat and he uses his hold on Derek’s hair to bring them closer, to remove the distance until their lips press together in a firm, warm seal._

_Only one coherent thought flashes through Derek’s mind as he wraps his arms around Stiles’ waist, snugging their bodies together in a flush, firm line, and savoring the way Stiles fits against him -_

Finally.

\-----

Stiles can feel the goofy smile slip onto his face as Derek pulls back from their kiss. Before it can bloom, he feels an intense cramping in his gut and he can feel his face twist with his discomfort, hands dropping from Derek’s hair to clutch at his stomach.

“Wow,” Derek says at seeing the expression, wincing himself. “Was it really that bad?” His voice is light but Stiles can tell he’s bothered by the reaction, biting his lip and dropping his hands from Stiles’ back.

“No, no, it’s not you,” Stiles is quick to reassure him, locking his hand on Derek’s forearm and squeezing. “The kiss was… was bordering on perfect, okay? I just – oh god!” This time, the pain is like a knife twisting into his gut and the force of it bends him in half. “Ah! Holy  _fuck_!”

“Stiles, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Derek’s voice is laden with worry as he latches onto Stiles’ forearm. “Jesus,” he mumbles when black lines appear on his skin.

“Something’s wrong,” Stiles grits out, feeling the need to state the obvious.

“Yeah.” Derek’s hand tightens on his arm. “What’s-” He lets out a grunt of pain of his own and staggers back against the island, breaking their connection.

Stiles coughs violently, spitting up a mouthful of blood onto the floor. “The pack,” he gasps, wiping his shaking hand across his mouth. He feels something  _pull_  at his middle, right where the ties are anchored, with a vicious wrench of force and he can’t help but let out an agonized moan. “There’s something wrong with them. They’re hurt.”

Derek digs into his pocket and pulls out his cellphone. He holds it to his ear then frowns and pulls it away to stare at the screen.

“What is it?” Stiles asks as he leans heavily against the counter, mirroring Derek.

“Laura’s phone went straight to voicemail.” He presses his screen a couple more times and waits for the call to clear. He shakes his head. “Cora’s is off too.”

“No time to call the others. We have to find them. Now.”

Derek nods and strides into the laundry room. He emerges two minutes later in jeans, a shirt that Stiles knows is Boyd’s, and a pair of ratty sneakers from the pile of shoes that Stiles has been calling ‘Shoe Mountain’.

Stiles coughs and spits blood again, this time into the sink, and ignores the way Derek’s eyes focus on the red splash, the worried crease between his eyebrows.

“Do you need to grab anything?” Derek asks, apparently deciding not to mention the blood as he holds his arm out to Stiles and starts toward the front of the house.

“I… hold on.” Stiles closes his eyes, focusing on his Spark, and sees four of the six threads that now surround it are vibrating and flashing with light. He ignores the ominously dim red thread for the moment, trying not to panic. “I don’t know,” he finally admits.

Derek nods, all business, and lets Stiles lean on his arm as they go outside and get into the Pathfinder. Derek looks at him, asking, “Where do we go?”

“I can feel that they’re that direction.” He points to the front and slightly to the right. “That’s probably not very helpful. Sorry.”

“I’m not in a much better place than you are, connection wise. Everything feels fried.” Derek shakes his head. “It’s fine. We can head the right direction and wait for you to feel something.” He backs out of the driveway and starts down the gravel driveway.

“Like a really fucked up game of Hot-Cold,” Stiles mutters, his stomach tight.

Derek’s mouth quirks in a smile but he doesn’t say anything else. He somehow manages to maintain the speed limit and all traffic laws as Stiles points him in different directions.

Suddenly, the threads snap tight and Stiles sits up straight. “Wait, here. Stop here.”

Derek stops, looks around, and pulls off of the street and into a parking lot, killing the engine.

The two of them stare at the warehouse stretching over the property. As they drive slowly around the perimeter, Derek points to a pair of black SUVs, his mouth tight with anger.

Stiles makes a curious sound. “Hunters? Really?” He shakes his head. “What is it with these guys?” Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he catches Derek’s eyes. “I’m gonna call Ally, see what she can tell me.”

Derek looks like he wants to veto that idea but he just nods and parks the Pathfinder on the opposite side of the building as the Hunters’ SUVs.

Stiles waits while the phone rings, fingers tapping against his knee. When the line clicks on, he barely processes Allison’s happy, _“Stiles!”_

“Hey, Ally. I’ve got a situation,” he says lowly.

Suddenly, her tone is all business. _“What’s going on?”_

“Five of my pack have been taken by Hunters and held at a warehouse.” He doesn’t want to ask his next question, doesn’t want it to be true, but she beats him to the punch.

_“All of my Hunters are with me and Dad. We’re in Peoria, tracking a couple arachne and trying to find the nest before the eggs hatch. Otherwise a handful is going to become about four dozen.”_

“Dude,” Stiles says before he can help himself, “that sounds insane.”

 _“Yeah, it’s been an interesting few days.”_ She hums, thinking over the situation. _“I guess the only advise I have is to leave at least one of the Hunters alive if you can. Then I can maybe figure out who they belong to.”_

Derek looks at Stiles with raised eyebrows. Stiles smiles. “I’ll do my best but I can’t make any promises.”

Allison laughs softly. _“Well, that’s all I ask. I’ll talk to you soon. Love you, babe.”_

“Love you too, babe.” He ends the call and shrugs at Derek’s incredulous expression. “I told you, she’s different.”

“I see,” Derek mumbles, shaking his head. “Alright, see that door?” He points up at a maintenance door located at the top of a rickety-looking set of stairs. “We need to go through there so we can catch them by surprise.”

“Got it.” Stiles takes a breath, pulls a little on his Spark, and takes a few cautious steps forward. He casts his senses out, picking up on the mountain ash before Derek, following closely behind him, even has a chance to bounce off of the invisible barrier.

He grins a little, feeling the almost alive-seeming hum of recognition from the mountain ash. He narrows his focus on the thick black line – jeez, how much do these Hunters have? – and draws it up to coat his left hand. It almost leaps into his skin and he’s thankful that the stuff seems to like him so much.

Derek steps up next to him and eyes his now black hand warily, stepping in front of him and toward the stairs. He breathes, “Like me.” His steps on the old metal are deliberate and light.

The trip up the stairs is an exercise in frustration. Once they get inside, the trip down is even worse. They have to move slowly so they don’t make too much noise but quick enough that the rusty metal under their feet doesn’t creak.

By the time they’re at the bottom in the shadowed warehouse, Stiles’ nerves are almost completely shot. The two of them move forward, toward the strange light coming from a jagged doorway.

There are four men standing in the basement, facing the back wall. The light is coming from camp lanterns that shine clearly but overlap, twisting the small pockets of darkness into strange shadows. The Hunters are speaking lowly to the furious pack who are chained along a chain-link fence, though Laura isn’t moving at all, just slumped into a pile on the floor.

Derek goes to move forward but Stiles puts an arm out to stop him. They have a brief, silent conversation, Stiles practically screaming  _are you fucking crazy?!_  while Derek shakes his head then jerks his chin  _I got this, let me go_.

Stiles frowns, not liking the idea, but releases Derek, letting him move out of the darkness and further into the large room, creeping toward the Hunters soundlessly.

Stiles tries not to breathe too loudly, though his control is fraying rapidly. It snaps completely when one of the Hunters fists his hand in Isaac’s curls, wrenches his head back and goes to slide a knife into one of the ice blue orbs.

“Stop!” Stiles shouts, running forward before he pulls himself up short. Well, shit. There’s that plan fucked beyond all fixing.

He locks eyes with a brown-haired man, the ringleader, maybe, from the way the other Hunters seem to defer to him with their stances.

“You’re in the wrong place, kid,” the Hunter tells him.

“I really don’t think I am,” Stiles replies. “See, you’ve got my people and I’m here to take them back.”

“You a wolf too?” one of the others asks.

“Nope.” Stiles bounces a bit on his feet, trying not to focus on Derek’s form slipping through the shadows. _Distraction, distraction, distraction_ … “One hundred percent, grade-A human.”

The leader and the guy standing next to him shrug at each other before pointing their guns at him. “In that case, you can die quick.”

“The fuck?!” Stiles shouts. “Don’t you guys have a Code or something?”

The leader tilts his head, like the question amuses him. “Code doesn’t apply to humans like you.” The other two Hunters raise their guns, pointing at him and squeezing the triggers without a single bit of remorse on their faces.

Stiles throws up his arms, thinks frantically  _Spark shield something anything fuck fuck fuck_  and waits to feel the bullets tear into him.

The guns go off several times and he can’t close his eyes  _he can’t close his eyes oh god he’s gonna see he’s gonna see when the bullets actually hit him and -_

He cries out when he realizes he’s suddenly staring at Derek’s back. The werewolf jerks with several impacts and slumps back against the barrier in front of Stiles. He curses, flinging the mountain ash off his hand and onto the floor.

Once the ash is gone, Derek slumps back into Stiles’ chest, making him stagger. He catches Derek under his arms and looks down at the crimson spots blooming all over Derek’s torso, turning Boyd’s shirt into a macabre tie-dye.

Stiles’ heart feels like it pauses. When it beats again, it seems to hammer heat through his veins. Or that could just be the rage coiling through his body. He feels like his next breath is taken in slow motion. His head jerks up and his vision blurs for a second as the room seems to pulse.

The Hunters  _freeze_ , actually, literally  _stop moving_. Their eyes are wild with fear. He can tell that they’re trying to move, to free themselves from his hold, but it doesn’t work.

Stiles bends his knees, lets Derek down to the floor slowly. He looks into Derek’s pale face, notes the tiny specks of blood littering his neck and chin. Stiles feels a swoop of agony dive through him, but he pushes it back for now, focuses on Derek’s flickering eyes.

“Derek, Derek, hey, talk to me.” He taps Derek’s jaw gently, getting more blood there.

God, there’s  _so much blood_.

Derek’s eyes flit open, moving around until they focus on him.

“Hey, talk to me, okay? Say something, you ridiculous idiot.” Stiles can hear the desperation in his voice. One of the pack whines, a high sad sound, and it makes him feel like he’s going to throw up. “Why the fuck did you do that? You’re insane.”

Derek doesn’t say anything, just clutches at Stiles’ hand and squeezes, twice. It’ll have to do.

“Okay. I got it. I’m gonna set you down and I’ll be right back.” Derek nods a little, jerkily, and his breathing sounds bad, wet and rough. “Right back.” He leans forward and presses a kiss to Derek’s oddly blood-free cheekbone before he settles him as gently as he can.

When he stands, Stiles rolls his shoulders before turning back to the frozen Hunters. He claps his hands once, hard, asking them merrily, “Does it make me sound like a bad Spark if I say I actually have no idea how I did that to you guys?”

They all glare at him, eyes showing him exactly what they think of him.

“You know, I suddenly understand why villains like their monologues. This feels  _awesome_. You’re quite literally a captive audience.” He laughs, a high, bright, maybe more-than-a-little hysterical burst of sound.

He moves around them, smirking, before pulling the mountain ash from the ground and throwing it in a circle around them. He focuses on his Spark and thinks what he wants it to do.

The four men unfreeze, though their eyes roll back in their heads and they collapse to the ground, knocked out for the time being, hopefully.

He glances back at Derek, then goes and checks on the pack. He squats down next to Erica first, pushing back her golden hair and peering into her eyes, bright pools of gold in her blood-covered face. She whimpers when he reaches out to touch her jaw with his fingertips. “Hey Catwoman.” His voice may break a little, it’s whatever.

She blinks up at him, a little teary-eyed herself, and croaks, “Heya, Batman. Took you long enough.”

He scoffs, looking down at her shapely leg, twisted at a gruesome angle at the knee. It says a lot that it only turns his stomach a little bit. “Which one of them marred your beautiful masterpiece of a body?”

Her eyes harden, flicking between the two of them before settling on one of the Hunters behind him. “The one that looks like a baboon’s ass.”

Stiles barks out a laugh. “Ten bucks says someone’s gotta have their leg broken again to fix it.”

She heaves a heavy sigh. “Figured.”

“Well, let’s get you out of these chains so we can do that, hmm?” He’s glad she’s able to joke with him. He’s teetering on a knife’s edge, so very close to dropping over a precipice that he’s not sure he’ll be able to come back from.

Everything inside of him is screaming to rend the Hunters into pieces and he tamps down the urge to shred, focusing on unlocking the shackles around Erica’s wrists. When he gets them unlocked, she pulls her arms down, rubs at the red and abraded flesh there before crawling awkwardly over to Isaac.

She runs her hands over him, nuzzles into his shoulder as she pulls shards of metal from his side. He winces but doesn’t make a single noise, just stares down at the top of her blonde head with a look of adoration on his face.

Stiles makes the rounds, unlocking Boyd next. The man gives him a nod and moves over to where Laura lies still, pale and bloody, but still breathing, thank god. Isaac is next and his first move is to drop his arms around Erica and squeeze.

Cora is growling low in her throat and wriggling but stills when Stiles presses his fingers to her pulse on her wrist. She, too, moves to Laura’s side when she’s released. When Boyd gives her a nod and a nuzzle, she moves across the room to Derek, leaning over him and speaking lowly as she takes his hand.

She looks up at Stiles and says, “He’ll be okay if we get him out of here soon.”

Relief almost makes his knees buckle. The sounds of low groans come from the circle he set. Stiles runs his hand over his face and turns back to the Hunters.

He feels another spike of rage at the loathing and disgust he can see in their eyes once they all get their wits back, though whether they really had any in the first place is questionable.

He turns so he can see the pack and the Hunters. Putting his hands on his hips, he asks with a great big toothy smile, voice filled with false-cheer, “So, guys, what should we do with them?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omfg, guys, what did you think?! It's a mess, for fucking sure, but I hope you enjoyed it. Let me know!!
> 
> Next chapter should be out soon - and if you're a subscriber, you'll actually get an EMAIL!
> 
> I'm so proud, goddamn...
> 
> kisskiss  
> ♡ Scotch


	14. Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a new chapter for you, my sweet babes!
> 
> I'll blather on in the bottom note - for now, just enjoy the chapter!

Stiles laughs and tells the Hunters, “I feel like I should knock you out so that I can call the appropriate authorities and they can deal with you.” His next laugh comes lower, less nice. “But I don’t really know if that’s what I _want_ to do.”

“I wouldn’t do anything drastic if I were you,” the leader warns.

“And why not?” Stiles asks.

“Because we’re in the right, here, kid,” the ugly one snaps.

Stiles sputters in disbelief. “What fucking moral ground are you trying to stand on here? Kidnapping peaceful people and torturing them because of who they are?”

The leader says, “ _What_ they are, not whom. They’re monsters.”

“You are a speciest prick,” Stiles informs him with a glare, “and the only monsters I see right now are the ones in front of me. Plus, you were ready to shoot me and I’m technically human.”

He’s not sure how the whole Spark thing plays into that but he’s not exactly going to get into it with these assholes.

Boyd pipes up from behind him, “Send them to the Matriarch. Let her deal with them.”

“I vote that we kill them,” Cora growls and Isaac and Erica echo the sound.

“Matriarch Argent won’t like that,” one of the younger ones says. “She’s the one who sent us.”

“Oh ho! Is that so?” Stiles chuckles. “Funny, that. I spoke to her right before we came in and, golly, she said that she didn’t send anyone here.” He grins. “She also told me to leave one of you alive so she can come and speak to you when she’s done with her current mission.”

The Hunters all look at each other, except for the leader. He stares at Stiles with something like curiosity and disgust and fury mixed together.

“You’re lying,” he accuses.

Stiles shrugs. “You don’t have to believe me, but I know that you weren’t sent here by Allison. So who _did_ send you?”

They all stare at him in silence, defiance in their eyes and the way their chins tilt up.

“Fine,” Stiles snaps, throwing his hands in the air, “we’ll just wrap you up like presents and send you to Allison and let her deal with your miserable asses.”

As soon as he steps forward, Stiles realizes his mistake.

He is _so fucking dumb_ sometimes.

Mountain ash works on preternatural creatures but humans can get through it just fucking fine, no matter how much affinity he has for it.

He tries to jump back but catches a lovely right hook in the jaw, spinning around and trying to shake the stars from his eyes. He hears the sounds of guns being drawn and whips back around, throwing up his hands.

His Spark fucking  _detonates_ , physically jolting him with its strength as heat courses through him. Shields go up around the wolves and the bullets that hit the wall ricochet and bounce back, striking the Hunters and sending them to the ground.

The lead Hunter comes for Stiles again and the second he gets close enough, Stiles ducks then swings underhanded. When his fist connects, well, honestly…

The Hunter kind of… explodes.

Something thick and wet hits Stiles in the eye and he curses, bending down to rub his shirt on his face to try and get it off.

When he stands back up, blinking furiously, all the werewolves near the chain-link – except for Laura – are staring at him in utter shock. They, too, are covered with splashes of various pieces that Stiles really doesn’t want to identify, though not nearly as much as him.

“Holy shit,” Cora breathes.

Stiles looks over at her and sees her staring at him, wide-eyed. “Uhm… so that just happened.”

_Take a deep breath, don’t think about it right now._

“Okay!” He looks around at the mess and says, “Are any of them alive?” They all shake their heads and he sighs, wanting to rub his face, but stopping at the last second. “Okay, let’s get everyone loaded up and I’ll call Allison.”

They’re halfway to the door when Stiles snaps his fingers and turns back.

“What are you doing?” Boyd asks, Laura cradled like a bride in his arms.

“I need Wolfsbane bullets.” Stiles pulls the keys out and tosses them to Erica. “I’ll be right out.”

Stiles gets back into the main part of the warehouse; it looks worse than it did before. He takes shallow breaths and searches through the pockets of the dead men, trying to ignore the bile teasing at the back of his throat.

When he gets to the car, everyone is loaded up except for Derek and Boyd. They’re facing off at the passenger door, Derek’s hand clenched around the handle.

“What’s going on?”

Boyd sighs and doesn’t look away when he speaks. “Derek’s wolf is just as dominant as mine is and he doesn’t want to listen to me.”

“But you’re Second in the pack.”

“He could’ve been, but he didn’t want it.” Boyd shrugs. “It’s not usually an issue.”

“Oh my god.” Stiles rolls his eyes and steps in between them, drawing Derek’s gaze. “Hey, Derek, you can sit up front, just try not to wolf out, okay?” He waits until Derek nods jerkily and takes a small step back, moving Boyd away and reaching for the door handle. “Come on, get in.”

After everyone is situated, Stiles slides into the driver’s seat. He clutches the wheel for a second as he feels panic trying to slip up his spine and choke his throat tight. He fights it back,  _just a little longer, come on_.

When they leave the parking lot, Cora directs him through side streets, calling out the places he needs to turn. There’s a point where they’re on a main road for about three minutes, having to cut across to have a shorter trip.

It makes Stiles nervous. He’s also maybe not really driving as cautiously as he could be. It really shouldn’t surprise him when he sees the flash of police lights behind him but he still lets out a string of profanities.

Erica makes it worse. “It’s your dad,” she informs him, head twisted around to peer out the back window.

“Of fucking course it is because this is my fucking life. That’s just  _great_ ,” Stiles grits out, though really, it kind of maybe is. He pulls out his cell phone, which is a little mucky –  _gross_ – and dials his dad. It goes to voicemail twice before his dad picks up.

“Stiles,” his dad’s voice is dangerously smooth and he cringes a little, “why do I have the feeling that you know what I’m doing right now?”

“Yeah, so that’s definitely me driving the black SUV in front of you. Please don’t be mad. Just follow me, okay?”

His dad, clearly furious, demands, “Stiles, what-”

Stiles ends the call. It sends a sick feeling through him. He sticks the phone back in his pocket and turns onto the private driveway that leads to the house.

“He sounds pissed,” Erica informs him.

“Yeah, well, he is,” Stiles snaps back.

When they pass the wards and are back in protected territory, Stiles feels like he can finally let out a breath. He glances over at Derek who’s watching him, his breathing harsh and his muscles taut with pain as he stares through half-lidded eyes.

Stiles looks back at the road, unsure what to say, glancing in the rearview mirror to check that his dad’s still behind them. He catches the eyes of everyone in the back of the car able to look at him.

He’s not sure what to say to any of them either.

When they pull into the driveway, Stiles shoves the SUV into park, unbuckles his seatbelt, and lets the panic take him. He just sits there and shakes for a good ten seconds. Before he can do anything else, his dad throws open the car door and yanks Stiles out of the seat.

Derek growls, low in his chest, and it sounds wetter than before. Stiles holds a hand up to soothe the werewolf and lets his dad take him by the shoulders and shake him a little before he crushes him into a hug.

“Holy shit, kid, are you okay? You look like hell.  _What is going on?_ ” his dad snaps, tightening his hold before pulling back and running his hand over Stiles’ head. He stares at the blood on his palm and on his uniform. “Is any of this yours?”

“Uh,” Stiles shifts, feels something pulling in his back and he knows he definitely got nicked on his side, “a little of it. Honestly, some of it belongs to him too.” He hooks his thumb over his shoulder to Derek who’s pressed back against the seat, growling at Stiles' dad as he digs his nails into the armrests, his eyes flickering between his human green-gray mix and bright werewolf blue.

“Jesus, what the-” his dad sputters.

Stiles lays his hand on top of his dad’s, keeping him from pulling his gun from the holster. He keeps his voice sure and calm. “Dad, I can explain everything. Just let me get them inside, okay?”

“Them?” His dad leans forward and catches sight of Erica and Cora cradling an unconscious Laura across their laps. Isaac and Boyd nod from the very back.

Stiles realizes they all look like a fucking massacre and he lets out a gurgling laugh –  _just keep laughing and it’ll all be okay oh god_. His dad shoots him an unimpressed look and Stiles waves it away. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just… it’s been a really long day.”

His dad gives him a hard look. “Fine. Get them inside, but then you’re telling me everything.”

“Uh, Dad, I’m not sure I can…” Stiles shifts uncomfortably, looking at Laura who’s out cold. He can’t ask permission to say anything if his Alpha is unconscious, though she _did_ say they’d tell him, when the time was right.

“ _Everything_ , Stiles,” he says sternly, giving Stiles solid  _Dad-Face_.

Stiles blows out a breath and flicks his eyes to Boyd who knows immediately what he’s not saying out loud. The man looks at Stiles’ dad and takes a breath, his eyes flickering gold in his bloody face, before he looks back at Stiles and nods.

“Okay. I’ll tell you everything,” Stiles says, moving toward the passenger side of the car. “Give me a few minutes to get everyone settled and then we can talk.” He opens the door and puts his hand on Derek’s shoulder, feels how clammy the werewolf’s skin is. Derek mumbles something, turning his face towards Stiles.

His dad moves toward the door too. “Here, let me help.”

“Whoa, Dad, no,” Stiles warns.

Derek growls and snaps his jaws, looking intimidating even while slumping bonelessly over into Stiles’ arms. He glares daggers at Stiles' dad and presses closer to Stiles.

“He’s not really good with strangers,” Stiles mumbles feebly, getting one of Derek’s arms over his shoulder so he can help the muscled idiot out of the seat.

“I see that,” his dad mutters, rolling his eyes as he takes Erica’s hand and helps her out. “How ya doin’ Blondie?”

“Hey Mr. S.,” Erica greets with most of her normal cheer and kisses him on the cheek, only wincing a little at putting pressure on her leg. “Been better.” She reaches for Laura’s shoulders as Cora slides out holding her sister’s legs. “I’ll help Stiles explain everything.”

“Oookay.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Can I help at all?” He watches as Isaac and Boyd climb out, Boyd grabbing Laura up in a bridal carry again as Isaac watches Cora and Erica lean on one another and limping toward the door. “Maybe open the door for you guys?”

Stiles motions with his free hand for Isaac to reach into his right cargo pocket since he’s got an armful of rumbly-stumbly Derek. Isaac retrieves the keys and Stiles’ dad gives the whole group another suspicious look.

Stiles huffs and says, “I  _promise_  I will explain, just leave it for now.” He motions at Derek who’s almost unresponsive at this point, though his hand is fisted tightly in Stiles’ shirt.

“Fine,” his dad grumbles as Isaac unlocks the door and steps back to let them all pass through.

Stiles stops at the bottom of the stairs. There’s no way he’s getting Derek up the stairs by himself. He pauses, thinking who would piss Derek off the least, then calls, “Cora. I need you for a second.”

The brunette comes up on Derek’s other side. It takes them a minute or four, but they manage to get Derek’s heavy ass inside. Stiles tries to slip away, let Isaac take his spot so they can get Derek upstairs quicker, but the werewolf won’t let go of his shirt. When Stiles pulls, Derek pulls back and almost knocks Stiles off his feet.

“Oh my god, you are such a drama queen.” Stiles waves Isaac back and slips back under Derek’s arm. “Please make sure I don’t fall backwards,” he requests and Isaac settles his hand against Stiles’ lower back.

They finally all manage to get to the third floor and Stiles directs them toward the library and his work space. He leans against the door and it opens for him. He has the thought that he may need to speak to Laura about possibly granting the house a mild level of sentience from using his Spark on it so much.

The thought is pushed from his mind as he and Cora get Derek lying down while Boyd settles Laura on the couch. He tries to get Derek to let go so he can check on Laura but he gets stopped again by the hand in his shirt. Rolling his eyes, Stiles manages to slip out of the shirt - it’s ruined by this point anyway - and Derek clutches it to himself.

Shirtless, Stiles stands up and glances down at his right side. Just a few cuts, nothing major and already clotting. He runs his hands along his back and feels the edge of something jutting from his skin.

“Ugh, that is so gross,” he sighs, but he leaves it be for the time being. He reaches out to his Alpha and lets his Spark sift over her, through her.

“No concussion, she’s just knocked the fuck out. Wolfsbane, I’m assuming, though it seems to be working its way out of her system." He keeps his hand an inch away from her, running it around her head and down to her stomach. "She should wake up in a little while.”

There’s a collective lessening of tension at the announcement.

He moves back toward Derek and motions for Erica. “Cut that off please.” He points at the shirt as he gathers a few things from his work table. When he turns back, Derek’s shirt is gone and his chest is revealed, bloody and filled with bullets.

He moves over, kneeling down, and holds his hand over one of the bullet holes. He closes his eyes, exerting his will on the bullet, calling it into his palm. 

 _Please work_... _come on, you fucking shard of metal, come on…_

When the small piece of metal flies up from the wound and hits his hand, his breath comes out in a punch.

“Nice,” Cora says from where she’s holding Derek’s shoulders to keep him from moving. Derek rolls his head, murmuring under his breath, and Cora rubs her hand over his forehead soothingly.

“Thanks. Surprised it’s coming so easily. I’m fucking terrible with metal.” He tosses the bullet into a small bowl and moves to the next wound.

After he pulls five bullets from Derek’s torso, one from his bicep, and one from his shoulder, Stiles is shaking and sweating. He wipes his forehead on his wrist and feels his ward pulse with heat. 

 _A little more, almost done,_  he tells it.

He digs in his pocket for the bullets that he took from the Hunters. He cracks one open and all the conscious werewolves wrinkle their noses.

“I know. It stinks,” he says as he holds his hand over the pile of powder that spills out, getting a feel for what strain it is. “Fucking  _flore flavo._  Because of course it is...” he spits and stomps over to his bottles, picking up the smallest one.

“What’s that?” Isaac asks, sitting against the couch by Laura’s legs.

“It translates to ‘yellow bloom’. It’s an extremely rare strain of Wolfsbane.” He takes one of the small stalks from the bottle. “Those assholes really wanted you dead, no matter what. I’m just glad they didn’t use it right away or we’d have serious problems.” He looks at all of them staring back at him. “I have to burn this,” he warns.

They all shift further back except for Cora. Stiles smiles at her. “He won’t hurt me. Go on.” She lets Derek go and steps back with the others.

Stiles takes a deep breath and hopes he’s right about the strain and also that Derek won’t hurt him. He picks up a lighter, no use in spending more of his Spark than necessary, and lights the small stem on fire. It flares up, sparking yellow and stinking even to his nose.

He lets it burn out then takes up a pinch of ashes, pressing it into the closest wound on Derek’s arm. The werewolf shoots straight up, grunting in pain, and grabs Stiles with his uninjured arm, yanking him closer and baring his teeth. He pants into Stiles’ face from inches away, eyes wild and streaked with blue.

“Hey,” Stiles breathes, trying to calm himself down even though he can feel his heart racing, “hey Derek, it’s me, it’s Stiles.”

“Stiles,” Derek gasps, screwing his eyes shut.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

Derek pants a few more times before he grunts, “Hurts.”

“I know, I know.” He reaches out and runs his hand over Derek’s hair. “It’s gonna hurt a few more times but I’m trying to help you, okay?”

Derek nods, eyes still shut, and lets Stiles push him back down to lay flat. His hand drops and rests on Stiles’ side, fingers pressed to the colored swirl there.

“Alright, next one.” Stiles presses the ashes to the next wound on Derek’s shoulder. Derek lets out a sharp groan of pain.

By the time he gets to the last one, Derek’s skin already looks less pale and the black lines are receding, though the man still looks rough.

Stiles leans with his hands on his knees and takes a deep breath, feeling his muscles shake. He bends his arms and puts his ear to Derek’s chest, listening to his breathing, satisfied that the wet rattle is gone.

“Can I get this out for you?” Boyd asks, appearing at his side.

Stiles blinks up at him then turns, letting the taller man have access to his back. “What is it?” He takes a deep breath and almost chokes at the bright knife of pain as Boyd pulls whatever it is from his back. “ _Jesus_.”

“No joke,” Boyd says, holding out his hand and showing Stiles the one-inch shard of  _something_  sitting flat in his palm. “It’s plastic, I think. The cut’s not wide but it’s pretty deep.”

“I’m so tired of bleeding,” Stiles mumbles, taking the shard and tossing it into the bowl with the bullets he pulled from Derek. He holds his palm over it and a small purple fire flares up. When the flames disappear, the bowl is empty, even of ashes. “Can you bandage it for me?”

“You should probably shower first,” Cora says as she moves forward to check on Derek.

“You’re right.” He sighs, checking on Derek too. He’s sleeping, breathing a little more rapidly than usual, but he seems to be fine. “Can you get him to the couch in the movie room?”

“Sure thing,” Boyd assures him, then takes him by the elbow and gently pulls him to his feet.

Stiles stumbles a little and he’s grateful for Boyd’s firm hold on his arm. He is  _exhausted_. “Thanks.”

“Thank  _you_.”

Stiles turns back. “What?”

Boyd looks up from where he’s about to grab Derek. “I said ‘Thank you’.”

“Oh, uh, well no need to. Thank me, I mean.” He shrugs his left shoulder. “You’re my pack. I’ll always come for you guys, no matter what.”

“Yeah and now we know that,” Boyd replies, a small smirk quirking his mouth.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Good talk as usual, Boyd.” He ignores Erica and Isaac snickering and turns to leave before he freezes, seeing his dad standing by the door into the hallway.

The Stilinski men stare at each other.

Stiles opens his mouth to say something, he’s not really sure what, but his dad waves him off, saying, “Go shower first, then we’ll talk.”

“Uh… alright.” He shuffles past and into his room. When he gets into the bathroom, he strips off his gory shorts and shoes. His underwear and socks are actually not that bad, but he puts everything in the trash can.

Unless the pack has some sort of magical detergent, he doesn’t think some of that stuff will wash out.

He showers as quickly as he can, hissing as soap and water hits his back, and changes into his comfiest boxers and gym shorts. He grabs a shirt from the clean clothes pile on the bed and heads back into the library to get bandages.

The room is empty except for Isaac who’s standing by the table, waiting with a very large first aid kit and a huge ass grin on his face. He announces in a faux-sultry tone, “I’m here to kiss your boo boos and make them all better.”

“Well hello, Nurse,” Stiles says flatly as he grabs his homemade salve, knocking the Neosporin out of Isaac’s hand and back into the box.

Isaac laughs, completely unfazed, and opens the jar. “Turn around so I can patch you up.”

Stiles grumbles but complies, letting Isaac smear the goop on his skin and tape a thick bandage over it. He wipes up the blood trailing down Stiles’ back then pats him on the shoulder. “All done.”

“Thanks,” Stiles grunts, pulling the shirt over his head with a grimace. “Where’s my dad?”

“Kitchen,” Isaac says, tossing the trash into the bowl.

Stiles sets it on fire too. “Joy.” He runs his hands through his hair, no doubt leaving it a mess.

“It probably won’t be that bad,” Isaac tries to reassure him as they move toward the stairs. "He won't shoot you, probably."

“Yeah, that's kind of the least of my worries,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes as he heads down the stairs. “Wish me luck.”

“Luck.” Isaac disappears into the dark doorway of the movie room.

When Stiles walks into the kitchen, Erica is sitting across from his dad. They’re chatting, catching up and having a perfectly mundane conversation. Erica’s hair is still wet and she’s wearing comfy clothes too, another of his t-shirts to be exact. She smiles at Stiles when she sees he’s noticed what she’s wearing and gestures to the seat next to her, across from his dad.

He sits, trying to stifle a groan, and lets her press her legs against his, resting one of her hands on his knee. They all sit silently for long enough that Stiles has to blink frequently to keep from nodding off.

“What you did up there, with the bullets…” his dad finally says, breaking the silence.

Stiles smiles. “I’m a wizard, Dad,” he says in an exaggerated British accent. He adds in his regular voice, “Well, not technically a wizard. I’m a Spark. I can do magic-esque things though, like what you saw up there.”

“And you live here,” his dad says, raising a judgmental, fatherly eyebrow.

“Yep.”

“That’s interesting.” Stiles rolls his eyes as his dad continues, “How long have you been living here?”

“You’re interrogating me right now, which you know I hate, but I’ll still answer you, even though you’re asking odd questions.” He waves his hand. “I’ve been living here since the beginning of July.”

“So, around a month and a half?”

“Closer to two now, I think,” Erica contributes. “Though it’s only part time.”

“Hm.” His dad narrows his eyes. “And why are you living with the Hale siblings, Blondie, Mr. Boyd, and Mr. Lahey?”

“Because they’re werewolves.” He feels a little like Deaton and can’t help but channel his mentor’s all-knowing smile a little when his dad just blinks at him.

“Werewolves,” his dad says, looking at Erica with a raised eyebrow like _can you believe this guy?_

She shrugs, letting her eyes flash gold and her teeth grow long, growling a little as the bones of her face shift. “Werewolves,” she echoes when she shifts back, resting her chin on her hand.

Stiles looks at his dad who looks shocked, yes, but also like he’s thinking very hard about something.

“The murders…” he finally says, squinting his eyes a little bit.

“Were done by something like werewolves, yes, but only in the sense that they were supernatural beings," Stiles explains. "The pack didn’t kill those people. They  _did_  kill the monsters though.”

“Monsters?”

Stiles nods. “They’re called aswangs. Nasty things that eat people.” He gestures to his torso. “Did you see the marks on me?”

“Yeah, been getting a lot of ink lately?”

“They’re not tattoos. They’re what are left over from when I got kidnapped by the female aswang.” He pats Erica’s hand when she lets out a soft, displeased growl. She laces their fingers together, bringing his hand up for her to rub her cheek against.

“You were kidnapped?” His dad makes an exasperated sound. “Jesus, just… just start at the beginning please.”

So, Stiles tells him everything, well,  _mostly_  everything. His personal feelings about certain things and people aren’t really something is dad - or anyone else - is really privy to at the moment.

When he’s done, Stiles glances over and sees the clock above the stove proclaiming  _7:46_. It’s not even eight o’clock and he is wiped the fuck out. His jaw cracks and his eyes water when he yawns.

Erica is blinking sluggishly, trying to keep herself awake as she leans her cheek against his shoulder.

His dad looks up from where his head has dropped into his hands. “Is that it?”

“Is that really your reaction?” Stiles laughs and Erica sits up, stretching her arms above her head. Stiles pushes his hands into the middle of his back, popping his spine. “After everything I told you?”

His dad snorts, rolling his eyes. “What I want to say I can’t say in front of the lady.”

“Whatever the fuck that means.” Erica rolls her eyes and slides off the stool. She rubs her cheek against Stiles’ and murmurs, “Don’t forget to call Allison back.”

She stands near Stiles' dad, waiting for him to raise his arm to hug her, like she has no doubt in her mind that he will even though he now knows what she is.

He shakes his head and embraces her. "You're a good kid."

She grins, kisses his cheek, and says, “Always a pleasure to see you, Mr. S.”

“You too, Blondie.” He smiles, shaking his head at her. “Get some rest.”

She snorts. “Yes sir, Mister Sheriff, sir.” She pads out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

“You should get some rest too. You look dead on your feet,” his dad states, snapping Stiles out of his almost-trance.

“Yeah.” He rubs his face then stands. “I gotta call Allison back first.”

“Who’s Allison again?” He sounds just as tired as Stiles.

“Friend from college who’s now the Argent Matriarch, in charge of all the Hunters in the local area, remember?”

“Yeah. Got it.” The older man rubs his forehead. “I need to sleep too, process everything you told me.”

“You should come for dinner soon,” Stiles offers as they head for the door. “I’ll text you. Melissa should come too. I’ll talk to Laura.”

“Your…  _Alpha_ ,” his dad says then shakes his head. “I can’t believe this is real.”

“Yeah, been there, Dad,” Stiles says, clapping his dad on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

He hums and pulls Stiles into another hug. “I love you kid, no matter what, and I’m really glad you’re okay.”

Stiles feels the prick of tears in the corners of his eyes. “Love you too Dad,” he mumbles, hugging tight.

Eventually they release each other, both of them sniffing and surreptitiously wiping their eyes.

“I’ll talk to you soon, Dad.” He opens the door without using the handle and laughs when his dad gives him a look.

“Showoff,” he grumbles as he walks out, heading back to his cruiser. He waves when he reverses and Stiles waves back as the cruiser pulls forward and disappears around the curve in the road.

He closes and locks the door before going upstairs. Sighing at the state of his phone, he calls Allison.

The line clicks on after the first ring _“Stiles?”_ Allison’s slightly breathless, even though her voice is businesslike.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he yawns, jaw cracking. “How’s it hanging?”

 _“Seems like you're back to normal.”_ She lets out a relieved-sounding laugh. _“I’m guessing you found your pack?”_

“Mmm,” he hums. “The Hunters said they were sent by you but when I told them I already talked to you, they refused to tell me who they belonged to.”

_“Not unusual. Did you leave any of them alive?”_

“Ah, no. Sorry.” He clears his throat. “I totally meant to? But there was a force-field thing and lots of bullets. It was nuts.”

 _“Well, that’s a bit troublesome.”_   She hums for a moment. _“Is everyone okay?”_

“Mostly. They need rest more than anything.”

_“You probably need rest too, babe. You don’t sound so good.”_

“I’m kind of freaking out, to be honest.” He scrubs at his hair, pressing his palm to his forehead. “But I’m trying real hard to hold it together.”

There’s rustling in the background and then quiet. _“Something other than the obvious?”_

“I told my dad about werewolves and about me being a Spark.”

 _“Shit.”_ She waits a few seconds and prompts, _“So, how’d it go?”_

He laughs, a hoarse croak, and tells her, “He was interrogating me as to how long I’ve lived with the pack.”

She laughs too. _“Did you really expect anything else?”_

“I don’t know. Maybe? I just…” He sighs, tipping his head back against the wall. “I felt like such a piece of shit for having to lie about the murders and then just revealing to him that it was a couple of monsters… I don’t know.”

Allison is silent for a moment. _“Well, maybe it’s better to think about it like this: you don’t have to lie to him anymore. God knows it was a total relief to find out that I could actually talk to you about everything. Frame it like that and maybe it won’t bother you so much.”_

“I guess,” he mumbles.

_“And part of why you’re having such a hard time might be because you thought you were going to lose your pack.”_

_Oh god._ “Yeah, that doesn’t really help the anxiety.” Taking a deep breath, he shakes his head. “Alright, my own issues aside, I need to ask what to do in this case. There’s five dead Hunters in my pack’s territory. That’s really fucking bad, right?”

_“For any other pack, I would say there might be a slaughter coming. But it’s you and I know you wouldn’t just kill willy nilly, plus you called first. Either way, I'll handle it. I have to send some people down to clean up. Was the site secure?”_

“The building didn’t exactly advertise that it was filled with bodies, no.”

_“Then it should be fine until I can get Frank there. I’ll send him down ahead of the rest of the crew. I’m going to pass your number along to him, okay? That way he can let you know when he’s in town.”_

“Sure.” The bile that’s been teasing creeps up his throat again.

_“After Frank gets there, the rest of the team will come and take care of everything. Hopefully someone will recognize the Hunters and we can at least let their families know that they’re dead.”_

Dead. Dead because of him. He closes his eyes. “Ally…”

 _“Yeah?”_ It’s like her voice is echoing but that’s likely just his imagination.

It comes out in a whisper: “I didn’t mean to kill them.”

She takes a deep breath. _“I know, babe.”_

“I… I wanted to,” he swallows hard, “to hurt them because they hurt my pack but… I guess I still didn’t think they’d end up dead. I don't know what I thought would happen but... not that, I guess. I know it probably sounds stupid.”

 _“My dad says there’s a line between Hunters who kill just because and Hunters who do it because it needs to be done.”_ She lets that sink in before she adds, _“I think the same can be said for werewolves and for their Emissaries. You did what you had to do to protect your pack. I've met Hunters like that, a lot of them, and I don't think they would have stopped unless you got them secured or you killed them.”_

He nods, even though she can’t see him, and her words help, just a little. He knows he would do a lot of things to keep what’s his safe, has always known that about himself, but it’s never really been tested by such a Life and Death situation before.

_“He also said that we can sometimes scare ourselves by how far we’re willing to go for the ones we love.”_

Stiles decides he’s done talking about this. “Are you done hunting arachne yet?”

She lets him chance the subject without mentioning it. _“Yeah, we managed to clear them out before the eggs hatched.”_

“Good, good.”

 _“Alright, you're practically about to pass out on the phone. Go get some sleep. I mean it,”_ she orders sternly.

“Don’t know if I can.”

_“Mmm, I bet you can. Go cuddle up with your pack. I’ll make sure Frank calls you. If you don't answer, I'll have him leave you a message.”_

“Thanks, Ally. You’re the best.”

_“I know. Love you.”_

“Love you too.”

Stiles leaves his phone in the bathroom and wanders down the hall into the movie room and the big couch. Everyone is curled up together, Laura, Derek, and Boyd human while the rest are shifted.

Stiles shambles closer and looks down at them, inspecting them all with his Spark as he sways in place. His eyes fall shut as he focuses.

Everyone has dark spots on their bodies but all of them seem to be healing fine. A hand wraps gently around his wrist and tugs him among the sprawled limbs and soft breathing. An arm settles around his waist and he feels the furry bodies push closer.

True to Allison’s prediction, he’s out like a light seconds later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! I just want to say: thank you all so much for your patience and for the sweet words!
> 
> I have had the most absolutely mad month and a half and it's just been one thing after another and I haven't gotten to write, like, _at all_. It's been rough, dude. But!! There's a little lull in business coming up so I'll be able to catch up on this fic and a couple others. 
> 
> Yay!!
> 
> Hopefully you enjoyed the update. Let me know what you think!
> 
> I love ya, I love ya, I love ya!  
> kisskiss  
> ♡ Scotch


	15. Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New, new, new! With this chapter, I'm back to over 100k for this fic, which we all knew was going to happen haha!
> 
> Please excuse any mistakes and enjoy, babbies. :D

Stiles isn’t sure how long he passes out for, but when he wakes up, it feels like he’s slept too much and gone right back around to tired.

He lays still, eyes closed as he examines his Spark. It’s remarkably full, considering the amount he used yesterday, the flames dancing in slow waves on the altar. He notices the six threads spanning off the altar and he runs his fingers and mind over them.

He checks every one of them, feeling how secure they are. He inspects them for any tears or frays and finds none, just solid, twining lengths of light, colored in a way that makes him think of each pack member. If he had to explain the colors, he’d maybe say that they remind him of each pack member’s fur.

When he pulls himself back and opens his eyes, he can see the golden cast of sunset on the hallway floor. He turns his head to the left and is greeted by the sight of Derek’s face, lax with sleep.

Stiles realizes that it’s Derek’s arm that is holding him tightly across his waist, rucking up his shirt slightly. He rests his hand on Derek’s forearm, feeling the heat of his skin against his palm.

He looks at Derek’s shoulder, at the place where he was shot, and sees smooth, unblemished skin. What Stiles can see of Derek’s chest without moving looks just as perfectly healed. He sighs, longing for werewolf healing as he feels the small pull of pain from the cuts on his back and side.

The exhalation makes Derek’s nose twitch and he shifts, moving closer and pressing his face to Stiles’ shoulder, mumbling something.

Stiles’ lips twitch in a smile as Derek rubs his face back and forth. “Derek,” he says softly.

“Unggh…” Derek grumbles, eyes still closed as his arm tightens, pulling Stiles closer.

“Derek, I need to get up,” Stiles insists gently, rubbing his hand over the hair on Derek’s arm.

“Five more minutes,” Derek pleads softly, scooting his head up to rest the side of his face on Stiles’ chest.

Stiles bites his lip then wriggles his left arm free, settling it over Derek’s shoulders and letting the werewolf cuddle closer. He rests his hand on the top of Derek’s head.

“Five minutes,” Stiles concedes and Derek sighs contentedly.

“Good,” Derek murmurs then seems to go back to sleep.

Stiles isn’t sure what else to do, so he spends the next five minutes running his fingers through Derek’s inky hair and looking at the other pack members.

Erica is the only other one touching him now, back legs pressed against his right leg while her front legs and head press against Laura’s left leg. Isaac is up against Laura’s left side too, curled under her arm. Cora’s head is resting on her sister’s stomach, rising and falling whenever the Alpha breathes. Boyd is pressed against Cora’s other side, his human feet touching Laura’s other leg.

All of them look fine when he checks on them, the remaining dark spots barely there, though Laura still has a general haze over her. He frowns. He doesn’t like the look of that. He reaches for the reddish thread tying them together and pushes some of his fire down the line.

Laura’s eyes shoot open and she takes a quiet but  _deep_  breath. She looks at him, confusion washing over her face, before her mouth splits open in a tired smile. She twitches her hand out toward him and he lets her brush her fingers across his palm.

“Hello my Emissary,” she says softly, her voice scratchy.

He smiles and wrinkles his nose at her. “Hello my Alpha. How do you feel?”

“Like warmed up shit.” She blows her hair out of her face.

He smiles. “Well, if it helps, you don’t look as bad as you feel.”

She narrows her eyes at him, but her mouth is still quirked in a smile. “I’m going to choose to think that was a compliment.” She huffs a quiet laugh and runs her hands over Isaac’s side and Cora’s back. “Everyone okay?”

Stiles sighs. “It was bad but we all made it back in one piece. Erica’s leg had some damage, the others had mostly superficial wounds that just needed time to heal.” He watches her look over her betas. “Derek was the worst in the immediate sense. He got, uh,  _shot_ ,” Stiles swallows the bile that threatens to rise, running his hand over Derek’s back and settling his palm on the triskelion design, “but I got him patched up quick enough. He seems fine.”

“Seems so,” she agrees, looking over her brother, a smirk curled in the corner of her mouth.

Stiles rolls his eyes before he asks, “What happened?”

“We were walking to the diner, through the alley behind the shop. I felt something hit my neck. The last thing I remember is hearing Boyd growl.” She scowls. “There are some bits and pieces in there that don't make a lot of sense. I assume because of the drugs.”

“Hunters,” he confirms. “Not sure what family they belong to. Ally said she wasn’t missing anyone. Not that it really matters.” He blows out a breath. “They’re dead.”

“All of them?”

“Yeah, four via bullet and one of them, uh, kind of exploded?”

Her eyebrows shoot up and she stares at him with something akin to admiration, rather than the horror he expects. “Exploded?” she echoes. "What?"

“Yep.” He holds up a fist then opens his hand violently. “Boom! Gunk everywhere. It was... not pretty.”

“I can imagine.”

“Allison is sending someone to come and clean up the, ah, mess,” he tells her. “She said she’ll handle the Hunters and make sure their next of kin know that they’re dead." He swallows hard and remembers what Ally told him the night before. He clears his throat for good measure and adds, "We’re in the clear, as far as that goes.”

“Stiles…” Laura gives him a long look. “Thank you.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Not you too.”

“I’m just saying ‘thank you’ Stiles. It’s not the end of the world,” she scoffs.

“Listen, this pack belongs to you as the Alpha and as your family, but this pack is also  _mine_. I’m tied just as strongly to all of you as you are to me and I will  _always_  come for you guys and I will do  _whatever it takes_  to make sure that all of you are safe. I love you guys and  _no one_  is going to take you away from me.”

She stares at him, blinking slowly in shock, and he has to turn his gaze to the ceiling and take a deep breath because he’s shaking a little. He stands firm in his statement but he’s a little surprised in his vehement delivery of it.

Sure, he means every word but he didn’t think it would come out quite like that, whisper-shouted as he lies flat on his back with a werewolf clinging to him like a limpet.

Speaking of cuddly werewolves…

Derek’s hand smooths over his side as he hums low in his chest reassuringly. He tightens his arm across Derek’s shoulders and dips his head to press his face against thick dark hair.

“It’s okay,” Derek murmurs, fingers tightening on his hip. “We’re all okay now.”

“I know.”

Laura clears her throat and changes the subject, looking at the two of them. “You know, Derek  _does_  seem fine now.”

Stiles gives her a look. “No.”

“What?” Her voice is all innocence but Stiles knows better.

“I am not going to have this conversation with you.”

Hell, he and Derek hadn’t even gotten a chance to talk about it yet, what with the coughing up blood and having to go rescue the pack… 

Like a traitor, Derek snorts softly.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing, Mister.” Stiles scritches at the base of Derek’s skull and says, “ _You_  need a shower.”

Derek huffs and leans up on his elbow. “Are you saying that I smell?”

Boyd grumbles craggily, “ _We_ all showered. You and Laura only got sponge baths. Laura wasn’t covered in Wolfsbane though. Go take a shower so our noses stop burning.”

Derek rolls his eyes, smiling at Stiles before he gets up and pads out of the room.

Stiles watches him leave, warmth curling in his chest. When he turns his eyes back, the whole pack is awake and watching him, human and wolf alike. “What?” he snaps.

The wolves snort, jumping onto the floor as they start shifting back, and Boyd gives that stupid little smile he gets sometimes, muttering, “Fucking  _finally_.”

Laura laughs at the look on his face. “Sorry, Stiles. You know we’re all incredibly nosy. We’ve been holding our breaths for this to happen for a while now.”

“It was just a smile, jeez,” he snarks, wriggling carefully closer.

“A  _conspiratorial_  smile after he cuddled the hell out of you while he slept,” Laura says gleefully.

“And the scent marking he’s always doing,” Boyd adds.

Laura’s eyes are dancing. “Ooh, and the way he watches you!”

Boyd points at her, nodding, before he looks back at Stiles. “And he actually lets you into his cabin. I’ve only been inside three times in the entire time I’ve been pack.”

Stiles scoffs, his cheeks burning as he mentally adds,  _And the confession of feelings plus the mind-blowing kiss in the kitchen right before we realized you all were being tortured._

“Basically, what we’re saying is, it’s the warmest we’ve seen him be with anyone in a very long time.” Laura puts an arm over him and gently pulls him into her side, rubbing her cheek against his hair. “It’s nice to see him happy.”

“Yeah, well…” Stiles trails off.

“Seriously, Stiles, thank you.” She looks at him, eyes locked on his. “You’ve helped us more than any of us realized you would. And I really appreciate it.”

“Alright, I already told you about thanking me. You’re embarrassing me,” he informs her, tweaking her nose.

She nods. “That’s my job.” She tucks her chin on his head.

“Speaking of jobs,” Isaac pipes up, climbing to his feet, pulling on one of the pairs of pajama pants from a folded pile on the floor. He stretches both arms slowly as he says, “Someone should probably go to the shop.”

Laura huffs into Stiles’ hair. “Only to put up a sign that says we’re closed for the rest of the week. We’re taking a vacation and staying in bed all week.”

“A stay-cation,” Stiles supplies, making Laura chuckle.

“Sounds amazing.” Cora pops up and pulls on the oversized t-shirt Boyd holds out to her. “Thanks, babe.” She drops down next to him, pulling him close and kissing him softly before rubbing her face on his.

It’s the most affectionate Stiles has ever seen her and he turns his gaze away, feeling like he’s interrupting a private moment.

Laura affirms, “We’ll open again next Monday, I think. Beacon Hills can survive without our coffee for a week.”

Isaac nods, gives a goofy little salute, kisses Erica’s forehead, and trots from the room.

Stiles’ focus zeros on Erica as she fully rises up and pulls Stiles’ t-shirt back on. She perches on the edge of the nest, stretching her leg out a few times. “A little stiff,” she murmurs at Stiles’ concerned expression. She holds his gaze and assures him, “I’m fine, Batman.”

He nods, not really sure what to say, because he’s got that frustrated anger still lurking under his skin somewhere. She pulls her shorts on and climbs back in the nest, wrapping around him and nuzzling against him until the anger fizzles and all he can smell is her shampoo.

A few minutes later, she mumbles against his collarbone, “Your phone’s ringing.”

“Shit.” He debates about not getting up, he really is comfortable, but it might be his dad.

“I got it,” he hears Derek call out. When the werewolf walks back into the room, his nose is wrinkled where he holds the phone delicately. “If I smelled like this did a minute ago, then I’m not surprised you told me to shower.”

Stiles sighs, reaching out for the phone. The screen has been cleaned of goop, but he can see that there’s  _stuff_  in the cracks and tiny spaces that surround the screen.  _Nasty_.

“Looks like I’m getting a new phone,” he gripes as he unlocks it and checks the long list of missed calls.

“You’re so popular, Stiles,” Erica teases, using the breathy-tone she always does to mock him about his writing.

“Ugh, what could Chase possibly want from me? I sent him the newest chapters.” He doesn’t bother opening any of the messages or notifications yet. He needs  _all_  of the coffee first.

“That’s right. You’re working on the sequel.” Cora perks up. “How much longer until you’re finished?”

“Cora’s just dying to know about Rhea and Parker.” Laura kicks playfully at Cora’s shins. “Even though we all know they’re  _just_   _best_   _friends_.”

Cora points at her sister and says darkly, “Don’t you dare try to tell me that they don’t love each other.”

“As best friends often do!” Laura shoots back, frowning.

“Look at how they talk to each other! How they immediately look to each other when things go down! They have undeniable chemistry!”

Boyd rubs Cora’s shoulders as she gets more animated, waving her hand around.

“Oh my god!” Laura declares, “Again,  _best friends_  – I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this! They're like Harry and Hermione!”

Derek gives Stiles an exasperated look from the doorway. “I’m going to make food.” He leaves the room, clearly not willing to get involved.

Stiles turns to Erica as the sisters start arguing in earnest, pulling plot and context clues from his book that he doesn’t recall writing. “Do they do this a lot?”

She rolls her eyes. “They used to do it a lot more before they met you, but they didn’t want to freak you out once you started hanging with us. Then you joined the pack and it just seemed weird to argue about it when the  _author_  was sitting right there. Not that that’s stopping them now…” She shrugs. “They knew I knew you before so they used to ask me stuff but I never got involved. I didn’t even read past Rand’s death so I wasn’t much help anyway.”

Stiles frowns at her. He’d killed Rand off with a good third of the book left. “You didn’t finish reading it?”

“No.” She gives him a bright smile. “I’m waiting for the sequel so I don’t have to go through the agony of having my heart ripped out and waiting a whole year to find out what’s going on.”

“Clever, you,” he murmurs, tapping her forehead.

“It’s why I’m your favorite,” she tells him, kissing him on the nose. “I’m hungry. Let’s go.”

They wriggle out of the nest, Stiles helping Erica climb over the edge. Boyd rises and joins them, rolling his eyes at his girlfriend and his Alpha.

“Should we tell them we’re going or…?” Stiles asks as they move down the stairs.

Boyd shakes his head. “They’ll figure it out.”

When they get to the kitchen, Derek looks up and smiles at Stiles. It makes his heart beat a little faster and he returns the smile easily, remembering the last time the two of them were in the kitchen.

He sees Erica and Boyd share a look, rolling their eyes, but he doesn’t care.

When Laura and Cora finally make it down to the kitchen, the four of them are just sitting down to eat. Breakfast for dinner, one of Stiles’ favorite things. He bumps his foot against Derek’s ankle and gets a small smile in return.

Stiles is almost done eating when gets another text. He breaks down, pulling his phone from his pocket.

He only has one message from Chase, telling him to call back when he can, not an emergency, just to talk about the new pages.

The other messages are all from his dad.

_**From Dad:** _

_**I talked to Melissa and told her that you were living with the Hales.** _

_**She wants me to tell you that she expects a dinner invitation.** _

_**I didn’t tell her anything else. That’s going to be your job.** _

_**There are a few questions that I’d like to ask Laura too.** _

The most recent message is from his dad too. 

 **_From_ ** _**Dad:** _

_**Let me know when we can come to dinner so I can be sure to be off work.** _

Stiles rolls his eyes a little, though he shouldn’t be that surprised at his dad’s impatience. He’d really only managed to stave his curiosity for the new world he’d been exposed to by being hurt and confused. In another situation, he’d be the same, if not more insistent to know more immediately.

He looks up and catches Laura’s eyes. “So,” he starts, clearing his throat, “I may have told my dad what’s been going on for the last few months.”

She nods, pushing her empty plate away and folding her hands under her chin. She flicks her gaze to Boyd who nods too before looking back at Stiles. “How did he take it?”

Stiles huffs a laugh, glancing down at his phone. “Surprisingly well.” He takes the last bite of eggs and pushes his plate away too. “He wants to come to dinner. He also wants to know if he can tell my stepmom.”

Laura just watches him for a moment, looking around at the other pack members, waiting for their input.

Boyd says, “I think it’s a good idea to tell the Sheriff, since we’ve got deputies in the department that already know.”

Erica adds, “Melissa is a nurse at the hospital. It wouldn’t be bad to have her in the loop too.”

Stiles looks back to Laura. She finally nods, picking up her coffee cup. “Alright. Remember, I agreed to letting your family in on things when we met about you joining us. I’m just making sure that everyone is in agreement too.”

He nods. “I get it.” He gestures at his phone. “He wants to come to dinner, if that’s cool.”

She smiles, looking at the pack who all shrug or nod. “Okay. When?”

“Probably as soon as he can. He’s incredibly curious, as you can probably imagine.”

Erica leans against his right shoulder with a smile. “It’s a family trait.”

He nods, leaning into her too. “True. I come by it honestly.”

“How about dinner tomorrow?” Laura offers, sitting back in her chair. “It’ll give us a chance to clean up the house a bit.”

Cora and Erica make similar noises of displeasure. Boyd rolls his eyes. “I don’t know why you two are so averse to cleaning.”

“Because it’s annoying and the house will only be dirty again in a few hours. We’re  _messy_. It’s just how it is,” Cora informs him, fiddling with her napkin.

Erica nods. “Exactly. Besides, the only really messy parts of the house are our rooms. They’re not going to go in there anyway.”

Derek rolls his eyes and Laura states, “It wouldn’t hurt you to clean up your room, Erica. I know you and Isaac have been stealing everyone else’s clothes because all yours are dirty.”

“Lies,” Isaac declares as he walks into the kitchen, setting down the bag of pastries in the middle of the table. He presses a kiss to Erica’s smiling mouth before he adds, “I would never steal your clothes, Laura.”

“Do I need to bring up the dress incident?” Derek asks, draping his arm over the back of Stiles’ chair.

Stiles smiles at the line of heat along his shoulders but doesn’t comment on it, choosing instead to ask, “Dress incident? Oh yes, I think you should totally bring it up.”

Isaac groans in protest. “Derek, really? Again?”

“Stiles has never heard the story,” Cora says sweetly, sending Isaac a smile that makes the other wolf growl.

The two of them devolve into bickering, like always. Stiles turns to Derek when he feels fingers press into his shoulder gently.

“Isaac showed up one day to the shop wearing one of Laura’s dresses,” Derek informs him with a small smile.

“I thought it was a shirt!” Isaac states, throwing his hands into the air. “Laura always wore it as a shirt!”

“It was a tunic dress,” Laura supplies, looking utterly amused as she sips her coffee. “To be fair, I  _did_  always wear it with jeans or leggings.”

“Still a dress,” Cora sing-songs. She jumps from her chair as Isaac darts toward her with a growl. He chases her down the hall, the sound of them running echoing as they thunder up the stairs.

“Did it not look like a dress?” Stiles asks, sipping his own coffee.

Erica shrugs, standing to gather up the plates. “It looked like the blue one my mom bought me Senior year, long-sleeved with small buttons all down the front.”

Stiles smiles, looking up at her. “I remember. That one definitely had a tapered waist with belt loops.”

She grins at him. “That’s precisely why it was so funny.”

“I didn’t grow up with sisters!” Isaac hollers from the front of the house. “I thought it was just a really long button up! I didn’t know!”

“Personally, I think he looks hot in dresses,” Erica says with a wicked smile, shrugging as she walks toward the sink.

“I did  _not_  need to know that,” Boyd states, picking up dishes and following her with a scowl.

“TMI should be this pack’s motto,” Derek gripes, finishing his coffee and rising to get more.

“I’m getting that,” Stiles says, smiling at Laura.

“That’s pack.” She shrugs, smiling as she watches Derek, Boyd, and Erica bicker over the last cup of coffee in the pot. She laughs as Cora darts through the kitchen and out the back door with Isaac hot on her heels. “Family, you know?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, smiling right back at her.

When he gets up to his room, he checks the voicemail he has from an unknown number.

_“Mr. Stilinski, this is Frank. Ms. Argent requested that I call when I got into town. If you’d like to meet, please call me. Thank you.”_

Stiles takes a deep breath and decides that he’s not going to meet Frank. He doesn’t want to see the Hunters again and he’d rather not have to go back to that warehouse ever again.

He texts Frank to let him know that he received the message and that should he need anything, he’s free to text Stiles.

Stiles then texts Allison.

**_To Ally:_ **

**_Thank you again for last night._ **

Like always, her reply is almost instantaneous - 

**_From Ally:_ **

**_Anything for you, babe. ♡_ **

\-----

Erica wakes him the next day with a cold nose pressed to his cheek. He laughs, trying to huddle under his pillows to get away from her. She roots under them for a minute then decides to jab him in the side with a paw. He jumps, laughing, and thumps her with the pillow before rolling onto his back.

He checks his phone and has to stifle the small groan when he sees it’s already 11:28. He has a new message from his dad, a reply from Stiles’ text the night before telling him to be at the house at six.

_**From Dad:** _

_**We’ll be there. Need us to bring anything? Wine? Beer?** _

_**To Dad:** _

_**Dad, they can’t get drunk.** _

He doesn’t have to wait long for a response so his dad must be off work. He usually doesn’t text while on shift unless it’s something that can’t wait.

_**From Dad:** _

_**Really?** _

_**Well, I can have a drink. I’m bringing scotch.** _

_**To Dad:** _

_**Yeah, not without special herbs because of their body chemistry blah blah blah. I’ll explain tonight if you want me to.** _

_**You can bring whatever you want, Mr. Sheriff Sir, just no driving after.** _

_**To Dad:** _

_**Don’t parent me, son. You’re my favorite right now. Don’t push it.** _

He doesn’t deign to give that a response, just rolls his eyes. He decides to call Chase back, idly fiddling with the fur on Erica’s back when she settles her head on his stomach. She rumbles happily as he scratches firmly between her shoulder blades.

Chase’s voice is bright and warm when he picks up.  _“Stiles! How ya doing?”_

“Hey Chase. Pretty good. You?”

_“Good, good. Becky’s getting her braces off today so she’s in a total tizzy and Shayna’s angry that she has to keep hers on for another two months. Linda’s about ready to scream.”_

Stiles smiles and runs his fingers over Erica’s ears until she flicks him with her tail. “Sounds like chaos as usual.”

Chase laughs.  _“Pretty much.”_

“So was everything okay with the pages?”

_“Yeah, actually, I was calling to let you know that the team seems to really like the direction you’re going with the story. Now, for the dreaded question, and you know I have to ask: How soon until you’re finished up?”_

“It’s cool. I know you’re just doing your job.” He thinks for a moment, poking Erica in the side until she moves with a grumbling sound, hoping down to the floor. “It should be done in a couple of weeks. I’m almost finished with the rest of the chapter I sent you. Only a few left after that, I think.”

 _“That’s awesome. Think you can manage the November deadline?”_  He can hear Chase typing at a keyboard.

“Yeah. November works. The thirteenth, right?”

_“Yep. I’ll update everyone, let them know that it’s all going according to schedule.”_

“Thanks.” His mind is a whir as he ticks over the outline in his head.

_“Say hi to your parents for me.”_

Stiles smiles. “Sure will. Same for the girls and Linda.”

_“I will. Lin told me to remind you that you still owe her that lasagna recipe.”_

“Oh yeah, I’ll send it to you later today.” He thinks he remembers where he put the card, some place careful, since it’s got his mom’s handwriting crossing out things and adding notes all over it.

_“Thanks. Talk to you later, Stiles.”_

“Yeah. Later.” He sits up and stretches his arms over his head, groaning at the way his spine pops.

“If you were talking about your mom’s lasagna recipe, you totally better make that soon,” Erica says, rising to her feet and stealing one of Stiles’ shirts.

He can’t really complain about it at this point. He knows the shirt he’s wearing is Isaac’s.

“I’ll make it this week,” he promises, remembering that the card is tucked in between the pages of his first book, the pre-release copy without the final cover design, though he does have one of those too.

“Any plans for the day?” she asks, digging through his clean laundry basket. He rolls his eyes as she looks down in amusement at the Grinch boxers in her hand before she pulls them on.

“Eh, dunno. Dinner tonight is pretty much the only thing set in stone.”

“How do you think Melissa is gonna take everything?” she asks, perching on the corner of his bed.

“I’m… not sure,” he answers honestly. “Though I find Melissa to be a very unflappable woman. She’s handled Scott and I pretty well through the years.”

“God bless her,” Erica says, shaking her head with a smile as she no doubt recalls Stiles and Scott in their high school days. “The woman’s a saint.”

He laughs and makes his way over to the laundry basket, digging around for clothes. He finds a shirt and some shorts but has to go to the bottom for socks. “Aha!” He holds up two matching ankle socks, though they’re yellow with daisies on them. “These… are not my socks.”

Erica laughs. “They’re Laura’s.”

Stiles only debates it for a few seconds before he shrugs. “Whatever. I’m secure in who I am. I need socks too much to be picky.” He slides them on and wiggles his toes. “Hmm, pretty comfy.”

“I’ll let Laura know that you approve of her choice in socks,” Erica says, rolling her eyes as she heads out of the room.

“If you tell me what brand they are, I’ll buy more!” he tells her, slipping on his gym shorts.

“You got it,” she calls back.

He ends up going for a run, regrets it about halfway through because it’s miserably hot again, and returns to the house a sweaty mess. He walks in the backdoor, kicking his shoes onto the top of Shoe Mountain, and pads into the kitchen.

Laura raises a hand to him in greeting, most of her attention on the book in front of her. Cora wrinkles her nose at him from where she stands at the island, making a massive salad. He can smell whatever is bubbling on the stove and it makes his mouth water.

“You stink,” she states, narrowing her eyes at him as he trots closer to inspect the source of the delicious smell. Pasta and some kind of cream sauce with chicken.  _Yum_.

“Do I?” he asks innocently, shaking his head hard as he walks behind her.

“Erugh!” she shouts, shoving him away. “You’re worse than Isaac!”

“Oh man!” Isaac says as he comes into the kitchen and grabs a drink from the fridge. “Careful, Stiles. You don’t want to hold the position that I do. It’s a thankless job and I don’t get paid nearly enough.”

“You don’t get paid to be a pest,” Stiles reminds him with a smile.

Isaac puts a hand in the air, shaking his head sadly. “Exactly!”

“Why would we pay you for being a little shit?” Cora hisses, chopping celery with clear frustration.

“You’re gonna cut your finger off again,” Laura warns her sister, still mostly focused on her book, “and I’m not gonna help you put it back on this time.”

“ _That_  is disgusting,” Stiles informs them. “Freaking werewolves.” He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge. “I’m gonna shower and write a little before my dad gets here.”

Cora shoves Isaac away from her and throws a cherry tomato at him. He catches it in his mouth, chews a couple times, and smiles at her, showing the red juice flowing over his teeth. “ _Ugh!_ ”

Laura sighs and he continues on his way into the hallway, laughing.

“Lunch will be ready in ten minutes!” Cora calls and he waves at her over his shoulder.

He’s back downstairs in fifteen minutes, ignoring Cora’s frown at his tardiness as he grabs some salad and pasta. When he’s finished eating, he takes his plate and fork to the sink, rinses them, and puts them in the dishwasher.

“Bring this to Derek?” Cora asks, handing him two plastic containers that look like the ones that got left on his porch at the old house.

“Sure.” He reaches out, running his hand over her shoulder, pressing his scent into her skin by her tank top strap. “Thanks for lunch.”

She blinks at him, a small smile curving her mouth as she passes her fingers over his forearm. “You’re welcome.”

When he gets outside, Boyd shoos him away from the grill as he tries to sniff at the ribs cooking for dinner. Stiles heads out toward the cabin, whistling a little as he makes his way through the trees. When he reaches the clearing, he walks through the grass and up to the door without hesitation.

He raps his knuckles on the doorframe, smiling when Derek jerks his head up. “Hey, brought you lunch.”

“Oh.” Derek glances at the clock on the wall above the sink. “Thanks. Didn’t realize what time it was.”

Stiles moves further into the cabin, setting the food onto the counter. “No problem. I’m not here long, I actually have to get back. I’ve gotta write a little bit before Dad and Melissa come over.”

Derek nods, making his way over and inspecting the containers. “Chicken pasta?”

Stiles nods. “And salad. Sans finger.”

Derek’s face scrunches. “What?”

Stiles shakes his head, laughing as he waves it away. “Sorry. Laura said that Cora cut her finger off once. I’m assuming because Isaac pissed her off.”

“I swear,” Derek says, pulling the lid off the salad container, “all those two do is fight.”

“True.” Stiles rocks on his feet, suddenly feeling unsure. “Well, I should…” He jerks his head toward the door.

Derek looks at him, head tilted for a moment before he leans in, pressing a light kiss to Stiles’ cheek. “Thanks for bringing this.”

Stiles clears his throat, feeling his face get warm. “Yeah, no problem.” He feels like a middle school kid, ridiculously affected by a kiss on the cheek.

He goes to leave then turns back around, stepping into Derek’s space and kissing him softly on the lips. He pulls back a little, smiling at Derek’s slightly widened eyes.

Derek then makes a happy sort of rumble in his chest, hand sliding along Stiles’ waist and settling on his lower back, pulling them closer together. Stiles curls his hand in the front of Derek’s shirt, slotting their mouths together again.

After a couple more remarkably chaste, but no-less amazing, kisses, Derek pulls back and says, “You need to write.”

Stiles nods, mouth a little tingly. “And you need to eat and paint.”

Derek steps back, hand trailing back over Stiles’ side. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Yeah.” Stiles backs away slowly, what’s surely a stupid goofy grin taking over his face.

Derek looks like he’s trying not to grin too, though, so he doesn’t feel too dumb. As Stiles makes his way back to the house, he can’t stop smiling.

Cora gives him another disgusted look when he enters the kitchen. This time though, it’s got definite amusement behind it. “You smell like a teenager,” she tells him as she fills the sink with water for the dishes.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asks as he makes his way toward the hall.

She wrinkles her nose and wiggles her soapy fingers at him. “Hormones.”

He frowns. “You all have _no_ boundaries.”

“Yeah, like we’ve never heard _that_ before,” Isaac muses as he flips through the newspaper to steal the crossword puzzle.

“Maybe one day it’ll stick,” Laura adds, though Stiles can tell by her tone that she’s not buying into the delusion that it actually will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh... only one chapter left of this part of the series...!!! 
> 
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> kisskiss  
> ♡ Scotch


	16. Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, last chapter, last chapter!!! OMFG!
> 
> (there's some sexy stuff in this chapter, btw... ;) just so you know)

Stiles is in the kitchen at 4:45, helping set the table. He looks up when the werewolves stop talking for a second and turn their heads toward the front of the house.

“Your dad needs new brakes,” Boyd says, resuming slicing the loaf of Italian bread in front of him. The rest of them continue doing whatever as Stiles huffs a laugh.

“I’ll let him know.”

“Do I need to remind you two to behave yourselves?” Laura asks, hands on her hips as she looks at Cora and Isaac.

They both roll their eyes and Cora gripes, “We’re not _children_ , Laura.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” she says, rubbing her forehead.

“It’ll be fine,” Erica assures her Alpha, bringing the water pitcher to the table. “Mr. S. took the news well and I’m sure that Melissa will be okay.”

“I know.” Laura smooths her hands over her tunic, the same one Isaac had mistaken for a shirt, much to Stiles’ amusement.

He’d had to turn away at the sour look on Isaac’s face when he came into the kitchen and saw Laura wearing it.

“Don’t be nervous,” he tells her, standing next to her and giving her a reassuring pat on the arm.

She turns and rubs her face against his hair. “I can’t help it. Family is important. I want them to like us.”

Stiles lifts one shoulder. “Dad and Melissa already know Erica. You guys will do fine.”

Erica flicks him in the neck as she passes. “Shut up. I’m awesome.”

Isaac grins and grabs her, kissing her soundly. “You certainly are.”

“Oh my god.” Cora throws a dish towel at the couple. Derek sighs, sharing a look with Stiles, an amused tilt in his mouth.

“Stop that!” Laura snaps before anything can really get started. “Stiles, would you get the door please?”

He nods. “Sure.” He claps her on the arm once more in encouragement and makes his way to the door.

He can hear his dad and Melissa talking as he approaches. As he opens the door he catches the tail end of their conversation.

“- just saying, John, this looks like a nice place and I’m sure – Stiles!” Melissa brightens when she sees him. He gladly accepts her hug, giving his dad a smile over her shoulder.

“Hey. How are you?” he asks as he pulls back.

“Great. Glad you decided to invite us over.” She gives him a look, though it’s good-natured scolding. “I’m surprised we haven’t garnered an invitation before this.”

He sighs exaggeratedly, nodding sadly. “Unfortunately I’m being held hostage. They only agreed to let you come tonight so you don’t ask too many questions later.”

She rolls her eyes and swats his chest. “Like I’d believe that. Laura Hale makes the best coffee I’ve ever had.”

His dad gives him a short one-armed hug. “As if that’s any indicator of what makes someone a good person.”

Stiles and Melissa give him shared looks of _really?_ because they both share the same obsession with coffee in a way that neither his dad or Scott has ever understood.

Nurses and writers. It’s their thing.

“Come inside before they think I’m trying to hide you from them,” Stiles says, waving them into the foyer.

“This is lovely,” Melissa says, looking around.

Stiles shrugs, looking around and seeing all the pictures along the wall, some of them even of him now, mostly due to Erica if he had to guess, at the cadre of coats hung on the hooks by the door, even though it’s still hot out. It makes him feel warm and happy, this place.

“It’s home.”

She glances at him, smiling. “Good for you, honey.”

“Kitchen is this way.” He moves down the hall and says over his shoulder, “I hope you guys are in the mood for ribs. Boyd’s been cooking them all day.”

His dad nods. “Smells good.”

“Yeah it does. Ribs sound amaz-” Melissa stops mid-sentence, freezing in the doorway, suddenly pale.

Stiles whips his head around and sees Laura, red-eyed and exasperated, growling at where Cora has Isaac in a head lock, mussing up his carefully styled curls. The two of them are in beta shift, eyes flashing and teeth long as they scuffle.

Derek has his head in his hands, Erica’s perched on the counter egging them on, and Boyd is looking at Stiles with a slightly apologetic look on his face, oven mitt covered hands held up in a shrug like _what – did you expect anything else?_

“So,” Stiles says brightly, turning to Melissa, “werewolves!” He even does jazz hands, trying desperately to make it as un-scary as possible.

His dad groans and moves further into the kitchen. “Where are the glasses?” he asks, plunking down a bottle of scotch, as promised.

“Here,” Laura says, handing him three glasses, “I’ll have one too, if you’re offering.”

“I thought you couldn’t get drunk?” he asks, but he pours three glasses, holding one to Melissa who takes the whole thing down in one gasping gulp.

Laura sighs, “I can try.” She tips back her glass too.

All in all, dinner doesn’t go  _too_  badly after that.

Isaac and Cora are apologetic and calm throughout the meal, which is more than Stiles has ever seen while living there. Laura’s Zen is restored and she stops drinking. Erica is charming and Boyd is the gracious cook, accepting praise with his normal stoic nods and small smiles.

Derek seems a little nervous but Stiles rolls with it, placing his palm on Derek’s knee and giving a comforting squeeze when the other man looks like he’s about to panic at Stiles’ dad’s questions.

The grateful look that Derek shoots him makes his stomach swoop, warmth curling there when Derek lays his hand atop Stiles’ and laces their fingers together.

Melissa is a little less calm about everything that his dad had been, but she takes it in stride. At one point, she watches the werewolves eating the ribs with their claws and says as she looks down at her own sauce-covered fingers, “Those look incredibly convenient.”

After dinner, they have tiramisu and coffee and the pack answers questions.

Ever the medical professional, Melissa asks at one point, “You guys can heal superficial wounds? That’s pretty amazing.”

“Yeah. It has its perks.”

“And its drawbacks,” Stiles mutters darkly, glancing at where Erica’s leg is pressed to his.

“Oh!” Isaac says, drawing the attention away from Stiles’ comment. “One time I had a metal bar shoved through my chest. It was  _sick_.” He waves away Melissa’s concerned eyebrow-raise. “I’m totally fine now, of course.”

“Does silver really hurt you?” his dad asks.

“Sometimes.” Laura looks at Derek and he shrugs. “Depends on the silver content of the object in question.”

“So, silver bullets?”

“Hurt us, yes, possibly fatally if placed in dangerous places, though most Hunters don’t use those.”

Derek adds, “They’re hard to craft, too, so most just stick to Wolfsbane.”

“Hunters?” Melissa frowns.

“People who police preternatural creatures and beings. Most of them follow a code, but… not all of them,” Erica tells her, affecting a careless shrug.

Melissa turns to Stiles. “And Allison, your friend from college…”

“Is a Hunter and is now the head of her family.” Stiles smiles. “It’s a Matriarchal type thing.”

Melissa grins. “As it should be.”

Laura smiles. “Hear, hear.”

At the end of the night, the pack says their farewells before Stiles walks them to the door.

“Thanks for coming. And for not freaking out too much,” Stiles tells Melissa.

“I love you, kid. It’s…” she sighs, smiling and cupping his face, “it’s a lot to take in, I’m not gonna lie, but everyone seems very nice.” She pulls his face down so she can give him a kiss on the forehead. “I’m just glad you’re safe and you found people who love you.”

He grins at her. “Me too. Taking over as Emissary for the pack was sort of inevitable after a certain point, I think, but I don’t feel trapped or anything,” he assures her, his dad too. “I’m happy with how things turned out.”

She smiles, eyes dancing as she nudges him with an elbow. “So… you and Derek, huh?”

Stiles and his dad both stiffen for a second and his dad aims a hard look down the hall as if he’d like to go back into the kitchen for another talk. Stiles hears the talking drop into a lower tone and knows the whole pack is listening. 

_Wild Things, no manners at all._

“Yeah…” Stiles says, scratching at his cheek. “It’s… uh… yeah, me and Derek.”

“Good for you.” Melissa nudges him. “He seems sweet.”

Stiles grins, nodding. “He is.”

His dad huffs, clearly about to give his opinion too, so Stiles hugs them both swiftly. “Alright, again, as always, it’s a pleasure to see you, love you more than anything, I’ll come by for dinner soon, or you can come here. Whatever works. Okay, bye now.”

His dad rolls his eyes but opens the door and steps out onto the porch. “Don’t know why I’m surprised,” he mutters as he rubs his hand over Stiles’ hair. “You never do anything simply, do you?”

“You know me, Dad,” Stiles says with an unrepentant shrug.

“I do. Be nice to him.” He nods back at the house and says, with a tone that’s only slightly begrudging, “He  _is_  a good guy.”

“I try, Dad.” He waves them off and goes back inside, pausing when he sees Derek standing at the end of the hall. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Derek moves forward as Stiles closes the door. “So, you told your parents.”

“Yeah. That’s okay, right?” Stiles feels his pulse kick up a little as Derek gets closer.

“Of course.” Derek stops inches away, reaching out to run his fingers over the side of Stiles’ neck.

“Good.” Stiles moves closer, resting his hands on Derek’s hips as he goes in for a kiss. It’s sweet and small and perfect for the night.

“Oh my god!” Cora shouts, making them both jump and turn to her. She looks positively gleeful as she points and declares, “Stiles and Derek are kissing!”

There are several whistles from the kitchen and Stiles can hear Erica catcalling.

Derek sighs and takes his hand, pulling him toward the stairs. “Movie?” Derek asks.

Stiles nods, rubbing his forehead. “Just get me away from them.”

Derek laughs.

They end up cuddling in the nest, Stiles’ head tucked against Derek’s collarbones, fingers laced together and resting on Derek’s stomach.

Eventually, he can’t keep his eyes open and he drifts off, the rise and fall of Derek’s chest lulling him to sleep.

\-----

_The familiar jack-rabbit heartbeat reaches Derek’s ears, coming closer._

_Derek’s throat is suddenly dry, yet, conversely, his palms are sweaty, as he thinks of the last few times Stiles has come to his cabin. He can’t tamp down the slow curl of_  want  _in his gut, not that he thinks he needs to. He drops his paintbrush into a cup, placing his palette on the small table next to him._

_He stands, moving toward the open door. He leans in the frame, waiting as the sound of Stiles’ heart gets closer._

_Stiles comes out of the woods, ducking under a branch and smiling at Derek warmly as he makes his way across the grass._

_Derek can feel himself smiling back, the stupid lurch in his stomach and tightness in his chest making him feel a little light-headed as he watches Stiles’ lithe form come closer, the light of the late afternoon sun limning Stiles’ body in gold._

_Stiles must have been running. He’s glistening with sweat at his temples, down the sides of his neck, in the hollow of his throat and across his collarbones. His breaths come a little fast still, chest rising and falling as he breathes in through his mouth and out his nose. His scent is pungent and heady, making Derek’s knees a little weak._

_He’d like to blame it on the approaching moon, but Stiles has the ability to affect him like no one else ever has, almost-full moon or not._

_“Hey,” Stiles says warmly, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. “I was thinking of going for a swim. Wanna join me?” He shuffles a little, looking nervous all of a sudden for some reason._

_The idea of Stiles, soaking wet, has Derek clearing his throat. He nods, not positive that he’ll be able to only say ‘sure, okay’ since what most likely will come out of his mouth will make him want to bang his head against a tree in embarrassment._

_“Cool.” Stiles smiles again, jerking his head. “You’re gonna have to direct me. The last time I was there was on the full moon and I honestly don’t remember how to get there from here.”_

_This time, he succeeds in saying, “Okay.” He’s almost proud of himself. He leans into the kitchen to grab his cell phone before hopping down the stairs to land next to Stiles._

_“So what are you working on?” Stiles asks as he falls into step next to Derek._

_He manages to explain his most recent commission, a piece for a private buyer from the next town over, for almost the whole time it takes to get to the lake._

_“That sounds really cool,” Stiles says, sounding completely earnest. “I’m sure it’ll look amazing. Will you let me see it before you send it to him?”_

_Derek nods. He really doesn’t mind letting Stiles see his work, but there’s always going to be a small part of him that’s shy about it._

_It’s an extremely personal thing, his art, though Stiles is always understanding about his boundaries within the cabin, never touching or looking at anything that Derek doesn’t want him to._

_“It’s through there.” Derek turns Stiles with a small press to his shoulder._

_Stiles smiles back at him, eyes whiskey-bright in the sun._

_God he smells so good this close…_

_“Do many people come here?” Stiles asks as they approach the shore._

_“Not often.” He looks out at the water, watching the way the sun makes the surface dance._

_“I used to come out here a lot when I was younger,” Stiles offers, toeing off his running shoes._

_“Really?” he asks, moving further down the beach, closer to the water._

_“Yeah.” Stiles pulls off his socks, electric blue and covered with shooting stars and definitely Erica’s, and puts his feet in the water. “My mom taught me to swim here, actually. Well, over there somewhere,” he waves across the expanse of the lake, “more toward town.”_

_“Mine too. Though it was actually that way.” He points toward the old house before he shucks his own shoes and stands next to Stiles, ankle deep in the water._

_“It’s really nice out here,” Stiles murmurs, seeming almost tranced out as he looks out over the water._

_“Yeah.” He doesn’t really know what else to say._

_Stiles’ presence is always enough to make him slightly off balance and now, knowing that he_  can  _touch, he’s having a bit of a problem_  not  _touching._

_Stiles turns with a knowing look, in the uncanny way he has, and says, “Last one in has to do dishes tomorrow.”_

_Derek’s mouth drops open, halfway to saying_  huh?  _when Stiles whips his shirt off and throws it at him. He sputters a little, pulling the fabric from his face in time to see Stiles stand back up from pushing his running shorts down._

_Clad in black boxer briefs, grinning like the Devil himself, Stiles winks, backs up a few steps, and throws himself into the lake with a high, happy laugh and a huge splash._

_Derek is sure that he’s never pulled his clothes off so fast in his life. By the time Stiles surfaces, shaking his hair and grinning, Derek jumps in with a large splash of his own._

_He comes up, breaking the surface and looking around for Stiles. He doesn’t see him, though he tenses, digging his feet into the sandy bottom. He’s already braced for impact when Stiles launches himself at his back._

_He loops an arm around Derek’s collarbones, clinging with a laugh as he whispers into Derek’s ear, “Looks like you’re doing the dishes.”_

_Derek huffs, dislodging Stiles’ arm and turning to look at him. His comment about cheating dies on his tongue. He knew Stiles soaking wet would be a sight he wouldn’t forget but this?_

_Stiles’ hair is spiky and wild, cheeks flushed, mouth open in a happy grin, eyelashes dappled with tiny droplets of water, the setting sun reflecting off the water to bounce on his chest, collarbones, shoulders, neck…_

_Stiles looks_  beautiful.

_He must convey at least some of this on his face because Stiles’ grin takes on a subtler curve and he moves forward, closing the distance between them slowly._

_“What, oh what, are you thinking about, Mr. Hale?” Stiles asks lowly, raising his arms and draping them over Derek’s shoulders as Derek shudders at the tone of his voice. “That’s quite an interesting look you’ve got on your face.”_

_“You,” Derek answers simply, looping his arms around Stiles’ waist and pulling him closer._

_Stiles moves his torso gently against Derek’s, a happy sigh parting his lips at the contact. “I can understand…” Stiles says loftily, leaning in to run his lips over Derek’s jaw. “I am pretty amazing.”_

_“You certainly are.” Derek dips his head, catching Stiles’ mouth in a kiss that quickly turns hotter, wetter, as he angles their hips to line up flush._

_Stiles lets out the most delicious groan, pressing himself harder against Derek. He pulls back, panting a little. “God, you feel good.”_

_“You too,” Derek whispers, dropping a hand to clutch at the perfect roundness of Stiles’ ass, pressing him closer, eliminating the space between them, if there’s any left at all._

_“I really want to touch you,” Stiles confesses, breath hitching. “Can I?”_

_“Yes, yeah…” Derek pulls back a little, forehead pressed to Stiles’ as long fingers dip into the waistband of his boxer briefs. He can’t stifle the low moan that comes from his throat as Stiles’ fingers, those fucking fingers that he’s dreamed about, those fingers that drive him crazy, wrap around his dick, stroking once, twice._

_Stiles lets out a tiny growl of frustration. Derek almost laughs at how he’s picked up so many mannerisms from the pack but Stiles retracts his hand and pulls on his waistband, urging him closer to shore. “I want to see you.”_

_Derek nods, moving through the water as it grows shallower, until Stiles presses on his shoulders to make him sit on the sandy shore. Before Stiles can drop, Derek leans forward, running his lips over the sodden fabric covering Stiles’ dick._

_“Fuck.” Stiles’ fingers dig into his shoulders. “You first, you first,” he whispers like a mantra, lowering himself to the sand in between Derek’s legs. He hooks his fingers in the waistband again, slowly tugging down until Derek lifts his hips, feet flat in the lapping edge of the lake._

_Stiles almost topples over as they work to get Derek’s underwear off. They both laugh until the fabric is gone, tossed to the side. Derek’s laughter dries up in his throat at the serious look in Stiles’ eyes as he traces his gaze over him._

_“You are so beautiful,” Stiles whispers, pressing a soft kiss to the side of Derek’s knee._

_“So are you,” Derek tells him, running a hand down Stiles’ side, tracing the curling colored marks on his skin._

_Stiles smiles, leaning in for a short, sweet kiss before wrapping his hand once more around Derek’s dick. It sets Derek’s head back, his mouth falling open as Stiles takes advantage of his bared neck, biting softly under his jaw as his hand moves a little faster, hold growing a little firmer._

_Then, it’s both of them gasping and panting, fingers tipped with claws digging into the sand at his sides, the heady scent of Stiles’ skin and arousal filling his nose. He’s close, hovering just on the edge, when Stiles grabs a handful of his hair in a firm grip, lifting, pressing a searing open-mouthed kiss to his lips._

_He feels like the orgasm is punched out of him, back arching as stripes of heat land on his stomach and hips, Stiles’ hold growing gentler as he softens. He blinks up at the man above him, thinking he may almost be able to go again when he sees Stiles licking his fingers clean with a feral grin._

_He doesn’t think before he pulls Stiles closer, kissing him fiercely, the press of teeth and the taste of himself, not so bad actually, on Stiles’ tongue. He rolls them, settling on his knees for just long enough to lean back and rise the sand from his hands._

_Stiles leans up, running his fingers over the lines on his stomach, bumping over his abs, the jut of his hips. Derek threads his fingers in Stiles’ hair, pressing his mouth against Stiles’ eyebrow, his temple, cheekbone, jaw, neck, laving his tongue along the moles dotted here and there._

_Stiles is panting a little, fingers tight against Derek’s sides, when Derek finally pulls back. His balance is better so he doesn’t tip over when they divest Stiles of his underwear. When he finally gets his hands on Stiles’ dick, he has to suppress the urge to bite down on Stiles’ collarbone, settling for a nipping kiss that he soothes with his tongue._

_He only manages to stroke Stiles a few times before he gives in to the urge that he’s had for a while, sinking down and taking Stiles into his mouth in a swift pull._

_Stiles hisses, one hand in Derek’s hair and the other scrabbling in the sand as he says, “Jesus fuck, yes, god, Derek,_  yes…”

_He bobs his head, tonging at the slit and tasting the sharp, bitter tang of precome. He uses his other hand to pull softly at the skin of Stiles’ balls, eliciting another sharp, breath._

_He moves quickly, unable to draw this out, though he makes a note later to lay Stiles down, preferably in his bed, red sheets stark against his skin as he writhes with pleasure. Derek sucks harder, angling his mouth to take Stiles all the way down to the root, nose pressed into the soft, dark hair curling there, Stiles’ scent rich and strong and enough to make his eyes roll back a little._

_“I…” Stiles gasps, fingers tightening their hold in his hair._

_He presses down, sucks harder, squeezing Stiles’ balls just a little as Stiles breaks into a whining moan, hips jerking once before heat spills through Derek’s mouth, down his throat._ _He gentles his motions, sucking delicately and slow before pulling back with a wet sound. He licks the corner of his mouth, catching a few drops that managed to gather there._

_Stiles lets out a breathy laugh, covering his mouth with the back of his hand._

_Derek strokes a hand down his side. “What is it?”_

_He shakes his head a little before smiling up at Derek. “You’ve broken me. I’ve got no bones left and I’m gonna die out here.”_

_Derek can’t help but roll his eyes. “You’re a drama queen.”_

_“Pfft. Am not. Can’t move,” Stiles sighs, flutters his eyelashes. “You should just go on without me.”_

_Derek leans forward. “Put your arms around my neck.”_

_Stiles’ eyes light up. “Ooh, gonna carry me, big strong werewolf man?”_

_“You’re ridiculous.” Derek lifts him, hands under Stiles’ sandy ass, and moves back toward the water, wading in until Stiles’ weight is nothing in his arms, not that it was much to begin with. He slowly moves his hands along Stiles’ back, washing away the sand clinging there, as Stiles does the same to him._

_They float there for a bit, exchanging a few mores soft kisses, before making their way back to shore. They dress and walk back to the house, Stiles complaining about his wet feet in his sneakers, the chafing that occurs when one is wet and not wearing underwear, but Derek can hear the happiness underlying the griping, can feel the contentment pouring off of him._

_When they get home, the kitchen is empty, the house quiet. Derek can hear the rest of the pack moving around in their rooms but nothing else as Stiles drops their wet underwear into the pile of dirty clothes._

_“Let’s sneak upstairs,” Stiles murmurs, “take a shower, and crash.” He twines their fingers together, biting his lip as he asks, “Sleep in my room tonight?”_

_Derek nods, smiling at the happy light in Stiles’ eyes. As if there were any way he’d be anywhere else._

\-----

The rest of the stay-cation is easy.

Stiles finishes up the last couple of chapters for his book, runs through the outline and does some editing. He likes where the book is going, where the end seems to be leading him.

He cancels evening training with Deaton and promises to start up again after they reopen the shop.

_“I mean, I think it was just panic or something. I didn’t even think… I couldn’t, ya know? Everything happened really fast.”_

_“Strong emotions have a very prominent effect on your abilities, Stiles. It’s not too far a thing to think that, when faced with extreme danger to your pack, your Spark would seek to solve the issue in its own way.”_

_“I’m worried that it’s got a mind of its own sometimes…”_

_“It very well might.”_

_“Reassuring, Doc, really.”_

_“I’ll see you on Monday.”_

_“Yeah, Monday.”_

He spends time with Derek at the cabin every evening, relaxing in the hammock and exchanging kisses that make his toes curl and his heart beat a little too fast as the sun sets through the trees.

Thursday is Derek’s hands tight on his hips, his back pressed against the door, as if Derek couldn’t wait for him to fully enter the cabin, mouth hot against his neck, searing, searing, his fingers clenched in Derek’s shirt…

Friday is tightening his hands in Derek’s hair, making marks under his stubbled jaw that fade as soon as Stiles pulls his lips away, grinning and ducking back to make more, a heady groan crawling from Derek’s parted lips…

Saturday is whispered compliments about how soft the skin under Stiles’ jaw is, how delicate the trace of his veins in his wrists are, how good he smells and how his mouth drives Derek mad…

Sunday is laying side-by-side in the hammock, one of Derek’s feet anchored on the ground to keep them gently swaying, fingers trailing slowly over arms and necks, talking without talking, listening to insects in the woods trill their calls, pointing out constellations they both know, Derek mapping his own constellations in the moles on Stiles’ arms…

Every night, they ignore the, albeit good-natured, teasing from the pack when they appear in the kitchen, hand in hand, smiling like idiots.

The shop reopens on Monday and all their customers flock in to ask how their vacation was and how Stiles’ book is going and a myriad of other questions. They break their highest sale record by 4 o’clock and Laura can’t keep the grin off her face, no doubt feeling the love that the people of Beacon Hills have for the shop and the people behind the bar.

It’s still a little strange to talk to people he’s known his whole life about the supernatural goings-on in town but he fields questions for Laura, as the Alpha, and makes coffee and eats too many pastries as Summer winds down the rest of the way.

He trains with Deaton, learning to lash out with his Spark in a controlled way, forming small whips of light and almost taking out the water pipes again.

He also keeps a keen eye out for anyone out of place, still a little on edge from almost losing his pack, but no one else troubles them.

He also texts Scott… about how the leaves are going to turn in a couple of weeks and how he’s almost done with his book and how it’s weird to be home without him and much he misses his stupid, crooked face.

Scott’s last reply consists of every color heart available in the emoji selection.

It makes him smile, despite the melancholy lodged in his chest, and he sends a single black heart back before helping Boyd unload the latest supply delivery.

\-----

The September full moon comes days later, her high-sweet song strong in Stiles’ veins as the pack wends their way through the woods. He feels the earth ripe and thriving under his bare feet, the dirt warm on his skin, the brush of leaves like loving whispers against his skin as they break through a clearing at the top of a hill.

He smiles when Derek wraps his arms around his waist, presses his hot mouth against the side of his neck. He drops his head back in a joyous howl, the rest of the pack taking up his baying call.

He feels  _electric_  and  _alive_  and  _complete_.

The day after, bleary-eyed and smiling with the good sort of exhaustion, they invite Melissa and his dad over for lunch. It’s nice out, the heat finally breaking so that they can actually all sit by the pool and eat without sweating through their clothes.

It’s loud and filled with laughter and everyone talking at once and it’s kind of perfect.

Stiles looks around the table, warm at the feeling of his family and his pack all around him. He misses Scott, sure, but he used to that by now, knows that they’ll always be family even through the distance and that they’ll talk soon enough. He turns his head when Derek lays his hand on his knee.

“You okay?” Derek asks softly, leaning closer.

He smiles. “Yeah. Just…” He shrugs. “Happy, you know?”

Derek’s smile is soft and slow, the sun picking out the green in his eyes. The flood of affection in his chest makes Stiles feel a little dizzy. “Yeah,” he echoes, “me too.”

“Oh ho!” Stiles’ dad chortles, drawing their attention. “You think you two can beat us in Chicken? You saying we’re too old?”

“I didn’t have to say it because you just said it for me,” Erica challenges, her smile smug as she touches Isaac’s shoulder. “Look at him. Pure muscle and a werewolf to boot.” She shrugs. “You don’t stand a chance.”

His dad and Melissa share a look, mouths quirking, before Melissa leans forward and says, “Oh, you’re on, little ones.”

“Bring it, moldy oldies,” Isaac jibes, jumping up and pulling off his shirt before jumping into the pool.

“Oh man, they’re gonna get their asses kicked and I'm just gonna point and laugh,” Stiles says, shaking his head.

Derek pokes him gently in the ribs. “That’s no way to talk about your parents.”

He turns, smiling. “Oh no, I’m not talking about them.” He jerks his thumb toward where Melissa is pulling off her sarong to reveal a pretty rocking bod for a mom of a 22-year-old, lean muscles flaring as she ties up her curly dark hair. “Isaac and Erica better have a big appetite because they’re gonna be eating some  _serious_  humble pie.”

“I’m gonna make fruity drinks,” Boyd announces, rising from the table, Cora hoping up gleefully to follow.

“Umbrellas!” Laura calls to him, as she emerges from the house, donning a ridiculously large sun hat, familiar flag in hand, wide grin on her face.

\-----

A week later, there’s a new picture in the hall, next to last year’s Annual Chicken Battle.

Laura is reclined in her chair, holding the flag in one hand, outrageously umbrella-bedecked tropical drink in the other, floppy hat looking ridiculous and somehow perfect with her cat-eye sunglasses. Cora and Boyd are in the pool, standing next to a sodden but smiling Erica and Isaac, the girls with sunglasses, the guys with their eyes closed.

Melissa and his dad are also in the pool, a hand-made trophy that consists of gold-painted forks welded together clutched triumphantly in Melissa's hands.

Stiles is standing closest, clearly the one taking the picture, with Derek curved behind him. His face is pressed to Stiles’ neck, eyes closed. They have matching smiles curling their lips.

\-----

Stiles passes the newest picture as he makes his way toward the front door. He hollers, “I’m leaving for the shop now! Anybody coming along needs to shake a leg!”

Erica thunders down the stairs, Laura in tow, and they both laugh as they race out the door, whispering about something while climbing into the car.

“Bring eggs home!” Boyd calls, a glorious smell coming from the kitchen.

Derek walks by and gives him a quick kiss before heading upstairs.

Cora shrieks, Isaac cackles, and there’s a large crash.

Stiles sighs, shaking his head, a stupid grin curling his mouth.

_Freaking werewolves._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for part one!
> 
> The next installment of this series will be out soon, though I'm not able to give a concrete date. Keep an eye out. :)
> 
> \-----
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who stuck with me through this whole process of rewriting. It was such a rewarding and frustrating process and I'm thankful for those of you that shared it with me. 
> 
> Thank you to all the new readers and the readers who saw both versions - you guys are the absolute best, I s2g. 
> 
> I have never known so much love and support like I have from the Sterek fandom. You are all amazing and I love you.
> 
> \-----
> 
> kisskiss  
> ♡ Scotch


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